


A Favor Among Friends

by gldngrl7



Series: Hanging On, Letting Go [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Creative License, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sex, F/M, First Time, Virgin Trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:26:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9189325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gldngrl7/pseuds/gldngrl7
Summary: Kara Zor-El, impervious to harm, needs to lose her virginity...and only one man can get the job done.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can't believe I'm writing the old 'virgin' trope -- but I think I sold it. This story started out as a little idea that took on a life of its own and now it looks like there might be plot and a deeper story here. This might be a series, I don't know. If it does turn into a series, though, no worries -- every story will be smutty. ;) I'm kind of a freak like that.

 

 

 

She couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Long after she’d convinced herself he must have been delirious and thinking of someone else as his lips lingered over hers. Long after she decided to play it off to spare him the embarrassment of discovering she’d been the convenient avatar for whomever he’d been fantasizing about. Even days after returning from helping her new Earth-1 allies defeat the Dominators, she could still feel his lips on hers. Could still feel the rush of heat beneath her skin that had nothing to do with the rays from the yellow sun.

She tries not to think about it, just like she tried to stamp down the joy that rose up in her when, stepping out of the dimensional portal, she saw him standing there, his arms crossed, his jean-clad hips cocked to one side, a look of concern mixed with relief on his face. She tries not think about how attractive he is, or how his carefree grin makes her heart skip a beat, and how it sets to racing when he laughs, like a thoroughbred after the gate releases.

She tries not to think about any of it – until it’s all she can think about. Even Alex notices, teasing Kara with her eyes whenever the three of them are in the same room together. And then it becomes a freak show. He smiles and she flusters…even more than usual. His hand (unintentionally?) brushes against her arm and she’s certain he can hear her breath catch and her heart lock up for a moment before her blood is racing through her veins again.

Of course, it’s not long before the dreams begin. His mouth moving against hers, his hands finding their way to her skin; groping, grasping, sometimes with a light touch and sometimes something more commanding. His voice rasping out her name like it’s everything, and her own sighs of pleasure so loud in her ears. Each time, she awakens with a thin sheen of sweat on her face and between her breasts, her brain still insisting that his hot open mouth sliding down her neck is so very real. She almost cries because it isn’t.

But it never goes farther than hot breath on hotter skin or roaming hands finding the hollow of her lower back. No matter how she falls asleep hoping that her mind will conjure new, deeper paths of pleasure, she awakens each time unfulfilled and disappointed, with only her fingers to help her find her way.

And she knows why, can admit that much to herself at least. Even in her dreams her mind can’t go further than she’s actually been in the waking world. Her mind can only barely conceive of what it feels like to have a man’s hips cradled between her thighs, or feel the bare sweat-slicked skin of his belly moving against hers. She has only her imagination for that – an imagination which refuses to put any skin in the game when it comes to her dreams.

Kara Danvers is a virgin, which if the average person were to ponder upon, should come as a surprise to no one. Even if she weren’t an alien, she’d still be completely awkward girl around cute boys, not mention self-conscious about…everything. Not to mention the secrets! There’s all the secrets she’s had to keep since arriving on Earth; about herself and about her family. Secrets which have only become more involved as she’s gotten older, moved out on her own and tried to make her way in the world. Of course, it doesn’t help that not knowing when to stop talking is a problem she struggles with every day – especially around boys who might show a little interest. And it can’t be overstated that it’s no easy feat maintaining a dual identity, which limits the options when it comes to meeting someone and having an open and honest relationship. Kara still cringes when she thinks about Cat’s son and how exhausting that had been.

But the real problem about being a girl from Krypton on a planet orbiting a yellow sun, is the invulnerability. The imperviousness to outside forces trying to penetrate…yeah…Kara cringes at the thought, because she’s not just invulnerable to speeding bullets and randomly tossed street signs. She’s invulnerable to all of it.

 ** _All_** of it.

It’s why she chickened out with James. She couldn’t, in good conscious, ask him to enter into a relationship with the knowledge that they could only top out at heavy petting and oral sex. And she didn’t feel comfortable enough telling him the truth – didn’t want to see the look in his eyes – so she fed him some line about needing to figure out who she is before she can be in a relationship. James deserved better, she told herself; a relationship with her might have been a fun novelty for a while, but would have ultimately been unfulfilling for both of them. It was this shortcoming of her own unintentional and unwanted making, which had been in the forefront of her mind when she’d broken things off with James before they’d hardly had a chance to begin.

To be fair, she has considered several work-arounds, including employing the strategic use of Kryptonite to serve her purpose. But there are two problems with that. One: Kryptonite has a tendency to alter her body on a molecular level and there is no predicting what that could do to her under a specific set of (erotic) circumstances. And two: luckily, in most instances, physical damage done while exposed to the green element heal completely once exposed to the sun’s radiation. So…using Kryptonite to facilitate the loss of her virginity might only be a short term solution. Also, exposure to Kryptonite is excruciatingly painful for her, so realistically she would be unable to enjoy any amorous activities performed while in its presence. Her (Earth) mother, always pragmatic about such things, would definitely tell her that self-imposed misery during the process would defeat the whole purpose.

Which is why, this time, when the abrupt ending to her recurring dream has her eyes snapping open, she also rockets straight out of bed, hovering over the mattress as though her entire body has become a giant light-bulb of inspiration.

Mon-El!

Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Mon-El had literally dropped into their lives – a Daxam boy in his stolen Kryptonian pod, escaping a dying planet and getting knocked off course for who knows how many years. Like an extremely attractive but undisciplined angel from the heavens sent to help her take care of her little problem. Her cousin Clark, even more hopeful and optimistic than her, would tell her that everything happens for a reason.

Mon-El can do what no man on Earth (that she isn’t related to by blood) can do for her – end her years-long torment rid her of this no-longer needed or wanted virginity. All she has to do is work up the nerve to ask him and then convince him to say yes. Kara, still hovering over her bed, snickers and blushes. Who is she kidding? Mon-El is a Daxamite; he’d probably be out of his clothes before she could say, ‘let’s get it on.’

Not that she would ever say that. Ever.

She’s half-tempted to speed dress and fly to the DEO right now, lest she lose her nerve, before noticing that it’s just 4 am. That will never do. Mon-El doesn’t handle being jarred from sleep very well, even in the best of circumstances, and Kara needs him to be fully awake and able to properly process her request when she approaches him with her quandary. Kara shivers. She will have to find a way to tell him everything…everything…and hope that he can take her seriously and above all, be discreet about it.

She finds herself in the strange and tenuous position of hanging a lot of faith on a guy that just a few short weeks ago was beating people up for money. Except that since then he’s begun to step up as if, despite his Daxam upbringing, he’s decided he wants to be a part of something bigger than himself. It didn’t exactly make him a hero, but for now it is enough. Given enough time and guidance, Mon-El could really turn into a story of inspiration.

But he’s still who he is; a Daxamite nobleman who had a human girl practically out of her panties five minutes after being released from full-time surveillance. Kara wonders if Mon-El has been tested for sexually transmitted diseases, before shaking her head at the prospect. He had been tested for everything while still in his stasis coma (once they figured out how to inject the needle), and it was unlikely that he could pick anything up from human physiology. If human viruses can’t affect Kryptonians then they’re unlikely to affect Daxamites.

Kara spends the next few hours formulating a battle plan…and rules. If they were going to do this they were going to have to lay down some ground rules. She narrowly resists the urge to write them down on a pad of paper.

Despite her nervous anxiety screaming at her to go see him at 7 am, Kara waits until her lunch break from work before speeding over to the DEO. She sneaks past J’onn and Winn hovering near a bank of computer terminals and barely misses barreling into Alex.

“Hey, Kara!” Alex says, her eyes widening with surprise. Her face shifts quickly to one of confusion. “Did J’onn call you in? Is there something going on?”

“No,” Kara answers, her lips pursing together. “I just…promised Mon-El I’d take him to try Cuban food. I’m here to pick him up.”

“Well, good,” she replies. “I think he’s going stir-crazy. Last I saw him, he was wearing out another treadmill in the gym.”

“Thanks, Alex. I’ll have him back in an hour. Maybe less,” she muttered. Kara could feel her skin flushing with heat again.

“Shouldn’t be problem. Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” Kara waves her off, downplaying the state of turmoil going on inside of her right now. “Fine. It’s nothing. See you later?”

“You bet.”

Kara could smell the tell-tale odor of burning rubber before she stepped into the gym. “You’re supposed to stop when that smell happens!” she warns him, raising her voice over the booming music coming from a stereo system in the corner of the room. “Give the machine a chance to rest.”

Hearing her voice, his head snaps up catching her eyes in the gym mirror. He’s unable to stop the grin that spreads across his face when she places her hands solidly on her hips. With a click of a remote control the room is plunged into silence. “They should build one that needs rest less than I do.”

“My friend Barry has one,” she informs him, good-naturedly. Mon-El is wearing running shorts and a skin-tight shirt made by UnderArmour. His muscle ripple beneath the material with every shift and move of his body. Her mouth goes suddenly dry and she finds herself in need of a drink.

Mention of her ‘friend’ Barry from Earth-1 has him feeling like he’s swallowed an icicle, tearing his smile from his face. It reminds him that she’d been gone for nearly a week, while he waited and worried that she might never return. Fighting the Dominators, he’d been told, after she was already gone without a goodbye. He paced and shook a finger angrily at J’onn. He should have gone with her! Daxam had twice repelled an invasion from the Dominators. Perhaps he could have been of some use, he’d explained. But the truth was, he was just afraid she’s like it better over there and decide never to return.

When the grin that lit a fire in her belly only a moment before, slides from his face at the mention of her friend Kara ducks her head to hide her disappointment.

“The speedster, right?” Mon-El nods avoiding her eyes. He dabs what little amount of exertion had gathered on his skin from his forehead with a towel.

“Right.” Kara tucks her hands behind her back nervously. “Maybe next time I talk to him I can ask him for the blueprints.”

“Maybe,” he replies with a shrug. “Hey is there something going on? Shouldn’t you be at work?” He doesn’t want to talk about her special friend Barry anymore. The thought of him makes Mon-El want to tear the building down brick by brick.

She takes a deep breath to quell the butterflies in her stomach, reminding herself that this wouldn’t even be the most difficult question she asked today. “I was wondering if you would be interested in getting Cuban food,” she said in a rush. “With me…for lunch?” His grin is back and she has to lock her knees to keep them from turning to mush

Lunch? Outside of the DEO? And alone with her? Once again, he’s unable to suppress his pleasure at her request. As Winn would say, ‘he has no chill’. “I’ve never had Cuban food,” he points out. “I do like their music though. It’s fun. Reminds me of home.”

“If it would bother you we can go somewhere else—“ She doesn’t want to make him said. That would not be conducive to getting what she needs from him.

“It’s fine,” he cuts in. “Give me a minute to shower and change?” he asks.

Kara nods and he zips out of the room, returning literally a minute later, dressed in chinos and long-sleeved burgundy Henley that fits him like a second skin. His hair is still wet from the shower, but combed neatly into place. She’s struck with the desire to tuck her face into his neck and smell his skin. “Ready?” he inquires.

She has to shake off both the desire to smell him, and the eclipse of moths that seems to have settled into the deepest parts of her belly. “Yeah,” she answers, her voice little more than a croak. “Let’s go.”

It’s a short walk to Flor de Cuba and Kara spends much of it debating in her head whether she should ask him before or after the meal. If she waits until after, then lunch is likely to last longer than she strictly has time for. As they’re seated at a table near the back of the restaurant, Mon-El effectively decides the course of the conversation when his voice intrudes on her thoughts.

“You seem to be thinking about something pretty hard over there. It’s giving you wrinkles,” he chuckles.

She covers her forehead with one hand, smoothing out the wrinkles between her eyebrows. “Is not,” she whines, though she knows it’s true.

He sighs, his Adam’s apple moving beneath the skin of his neck with a gulp and he licks his lips before speaking. “Something tells me this isn’t just a friendly lunch. Did I do something wrong again, Kara?” This time it’s his brow’s turn to furrow. It seems as if he’s if forever disappointing her no matter how hard he tries. And now that…that he’s found that he’s falling for her, it makes her irritation with him that much more difficult to bear.

Something about the sad look on his face makes her want to reach across the table for his hand to comfort him. She doesn’t. Instead she twists a napkin between her fingers in her lap, out of his line of vision but quickly tries to set him at ease. “No, it’s nothing like that,” she reassures. “I did want to talk to you about something, but I wanted us to be away from prying ears and security cameras.” She clamps her mouth shut when the waitress steps up to place two glasses of water on the table and drops a menu in front of each of them.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he presses finally, after the silence between them lingers just a moment too long. He attempts to appear slightly disinterested by perusing his menu.

“What are you hungry for?” she asks, an obvious redirection. ‘Don’t chicken out,’ she tells herself.

“You pick. Whatever’s good here,” he tells her before setting aside his menu. He can’t stand the suspense and doesn’t want to wait another minute to find out what he’s done to create that frightened look on her face. “What did want to talk to me about? You should just tell me before you burn a hole in the menu with your eyes.”

He is right. She stares at her menu as if it had personally tried to attack her and she is planning a way to take it down. Still, Kara grips the menu more tightly in her hands and wonders if it would be too immature to hide behind it. She recalls what her high school Health teacher used to say in class, ‘If you can’t talk about it, then you shouldn’t be doing it.’

Kara straightens her spines and squares her shoulders, leaning her back hard against the booth. Mon-El’s eyes widen in response and he seems to steel himself for whatever might come next. “I need your help with something,” she begins.

“Great,” he breathes a deep sigh of relief. Asking for his help is a good sign, he thinks. Perhaps it means that he’s earning more of her trust. “I’m all about the helping these days. What is it? Do you need back-up finding your Earth father? I heard you and Alex talking about it the other day. And I can’t help but feel like I owe him.” Jeremiah Danvers, long held captive by Cadmus had saved his life by fishing a lead bullet out of Mon-El’s leg when Cadmus had taken him hostage.

“No,” Kara shakes her head, though she thinks he’s sweet to offer. “It’s not that. It’s more personal.”

Mon-El’s eyes squint and he tilts his head to the left. “What’s more personal than saving your father?” He wonders is this had anything to do with the kiss he denies remembering.

Grasping her water glass, she drains the glass in one go before setting back on the table.

“Seriously, Kara…are you okay?” She’s the nervous sort, in a flustered way that he finds completely charming and adorable, but what he sees on her face and in her body language tells him that this is more than garden variety nerves.

“I need you to have sex with me,” she blurts out, her eyes refusing to meet his. Damn it! She hadn’t meant to phrase it that way, but part of her just wanted it over with. A beat of silence fills the space between them and Kara can hear a mouse chomping through a cardboard box in the back alley.

This time it is Mon-El’s turn to drain his glass of water. “Excuse me?” he croaks. “What was that?” Super hearing or not, he must have misheard her, of misunderstood what she was saying. Surely, she wasn’t suggesting they have sex – not after she’d been so relieved to find out he didn’t remember kissing her.

“I need to lose my virginity, and it has to be you.” Kara clears her throat, hopping that might distract from the blush she can feel spreading across her face.

Well that wasn’t…he hadn’t been expecting to hear that. A burst of joy mixed with relief explodes inside of him upon hearing that she’s a virgin. Not that it would matter to him if she wasn’t, but still…knowing that she’s untouched somehow lifts a weight off his shoulders. So…Barry isn’t a thing and apparently never has been. Mon-El’s face splits with a grin and his mouth drops open. He drops his head in an attempt to hide his happiness, which she will possibly find insulting.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she warns, pointing a finger at him and squinting her eyes as though she’s prepared to let loose some highly focused heat vision.

He makes a clearly concerted effort to ease his face into a more neutral expression. Clearing his throat, he bites down on his lower lip and squeezes his eyes shut, telling himself to get control. He’s not completely sure what she’s asking of him, so he decides to plot his next moves before getting the answers he needs.

Kara isn’t sure but she suspects he’s having a conversation with himself in the privacy of his own head. Mon-El sucks in a lungful of air, as though he had forgotten momentarily to breathe and only just remembered how, although Kara knows he would have to go much longer than a minute without air to necessitate the taking of a breath that desperate.

“Just for clarification…you wish to undergo the Rite of—“

“No rites,” she cuts in. “No ceremonies. Just a simple business transaction.”

“Kara….” He does that adorable thing where he tilts his head again, trying to wrap his mind around the constant contradictions of the cultures of planet Earth. “It’s my understanding that…I mean from what Winn tells me…sex as a business…there are laws against that here. Stupid laws, by the way, but laws I’ve promised to follow nonetheless.”

“Oh!” she quickly realizes her mistake. “No, no, not like that. There will be no money changing hands…or exchange of goods…in any way.”

“Then how is it a business transaction?” he asks, more confused than ever.

Back to the drawing board, she sighs. “Okay. What if we called it…a favor among friends…?”

“Friends,” his voice drops, his brow furrowing again. That doesn’t bode as well as he’d hoped based on how their conversation began. Mon-El doesn’t wish to be merely ‘friends’ with Kara. He wants much, much more – but he also knows that he isn’t good enough for her, isn’t what she wants in a man, not really. “But there are others who’ve known you far longer. Men that you clearly prefer…to me.”

Kara opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, wondering what she might have done since his arrival to give him _that_ impression. She’s been playing her cards super close to the chest these last few months. And besides that, he’s completely wrong…if her dreams have anything to say about it.

“Such as this Barry person,” he suggests, tentatively, as though testing a fence. “Or…James?”

Shaking her head resolutely, she insists, “It has to be you, Mon-El.” She doesn’t understand why he is so hesitant; is she really that unattractive to him? She knows that she’s quite attractive by Earth standards, at least if some of her headlines are to be believed. Somehow though, when she imagined this scenario she envisioned him halfway to undressed by this point. “You have super strength and you’re invulnerable. Don’t you understand?”

Mon-El tries not to visualize her arms around him, clutching at his naked back while he…does things to her. Clearing his throat, he says, “I’m sure if you’re gentle, you wouldn’t break—“

“It’s not about me breaking them, Mon-El. It’s about them not being able to…break – do I really have to spell this out for you?” Kara can hear the pitch of voice rising to unflattering levels, and she drops her face into her hands to hide her abject humiliation. In spite of the growing lump in her throat, she refuses to get emotional over this.

It strikes him then as though he’s been thrown against a brick wall. “ _Oh_!” he croons, finally realizing the nature of her dilemma. “Because you’re invulnerable. So… _everything’s_ invulnerable.” He imagines a human man trying to solve her problem, and cringes painfully at the only possible outcome of that scenario.

“Right,” she sighs with relief, the worst now over.

“Yeah, that’s definitely a tough break.” And then, like an idiot, he grins at his own pun.

The waitress returns and Kara orders the ropa vieja for them both, with an extra serving of black beans and caramelized plantains, because she’s feeling the need for something sweet. Mon-El picks at a piece of bread while rolling her request around in his head. They sit quietly, Kara tugging uncomfortably at an errant curl of hair at the back of her neck, until their food arrives some minutes later.

“So when would this event take place?” he wonders.

“You’ll do it then?” she perks up immediately, though she has to restrain the nest of writhing snakes his question has awakened in her belly.

Mon-El shrugs and then decides for a joke to lighten the mood. “What kind of Daxamite would I be if I left a beautiful woman like you untarnished? I would hardly be doing the Daxam reputation justice, now would I?” It’s clear from the shifting expression on Kara’s face that his attempt at humor has hit wide of the mark. Very wide.

Kara’s smile slides from her face and her hopes plummet to the soles of her feet. The nonchalance of his attitude disappears just as quickly as her smile and Kara can tell that Mon-El recognizes his misstep.

Quickly reaching across the table, all humor vanishing from his demeanor, he covers her hand with his. Mon-El’s voice lowers to a gentle, reassuring timbre. “I promise I’ll take care of you, Kara. I’ll make sure it’s done right, okay?

“Okay,” she nods, her eyes misting up, quite against her will.

Seeing her emotion and wishing to reassure her more fully he adds, “Don’t worry, I have all the training needed.”

“Training?” she wonders, her widening with shock. “What do you mean?”

“Oh,” he says. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“It’s standard in the court of the Crown Prince, that all courtiers receive training and discipline in the pleasure arts. It begins for the males when their fifteen, seventeen for the girls, and it’s quite comprehensive.”

“Why would you need—you know what? I don’t want to know.” Kara shakes off the thought though she knows it’s likely to haunt her until her curiosity is satisfied.

“All you need to know, is that you’re going to be in good hands. But before I agree to this, you have to promise me one thing first.”

“What’s that?”

“This can’t just be a ‘transaction’ like you called it. You can’t just lay there with your eyes closed…pretending I’m someone else. Not if you want your first time to be something worth remembering, as it should be. You have to be a participant. You have to be open to me...trust me. Can you do that? Because if you can’t…”

The eyes that usually sparkle with mischief or impending irresponsibility, darken with intense sincerity. In that moment she sees in Mon-El as the man he she knows he can be and Kara feels her mouth go dry. Thankfully the waitress had refilled their water glasses after dropping off their meal. She realizes that part of her had wanted him to take it all seriously, despite the utter ridiculousness of her requests. A sigh of relief escapes her mouth before she nods in agreement with his request.

Mon-El smiles, his eyes, gray pools of warm reassurance. “Everything will be fine, Kara. I’ve seen enough of your Earth entertainment programs to know that sex between friends without current romantic entanglements can be a mutually beneficial agreement. Friends with benefits, I think they call it. I saw one movie where two friends agreed to mate when they were of a certain age if they hadn’t found their partners yet. I liked that one. A little sappy, but there were some funny moments.”

“I didn’t realize they were supplying you with a selection of rom-coms.” Kara is thrilled for an avenue of escape from their current discussion.

“Rom-coms?”

“Romantic comedies,” she explains. “Doesn’t seem quite your style.”

“The powers-that-be decided that I’m not allowed to watch anything that depicts explosions or alien invasions, or aggression of any kind.”

“So…no action movies allowed,” she surmises.

“Romantic comedies and sad stories written by a man named Nicholas Sparks are the only films on the approved watch list, I’m afraid. I hear good things about this Liam Neeson person though.” Mon-El chuckles and Kara remembers that she’s always liked his sense of humor, although begrudgingly at first.

“I’m sure that will all change in time. They’re just being cautious.”

“I know that I still have a lot to learn, Kara. They can’t just release me to the wild…I get it. I may speak the language, but sometimes that creates more questions than it answers. On the upside, thanks to these rom-coms I’m learning a lot about how to woo Earth women.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, though she can tell he’s just trying to elicit a laugh from her.

He goes on to detail all the ridiculous things he’s learning from watching rom-coms and before she knows it, she’s forgotten all about how nervous she was when they walked into the restaurant. He’s enamored with the taste of Cuban food, but makes a bit of a mess on his face eating the ropa vieja. Kara leans forward with her napkin and wipes away the smear of greasy beef gravy on his chin. Something she can’t interpret flashes in his eyes as he offers his thanks.

Before leaving the restaurant to walk him back to the DEO they decide that Friday night would be good night, so she leaves him at the front door of building her chest filling with a combination of excitement and terror.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Two days doesn’t give her a lot of time to prepare, but it does give her plenty of time to second guess her decision and to descend into a spiraling pit of anxiety. She very nearly convinces herself to call the whole thing off, until Thursday night (girl’s night with Alex over red wine and Chinese food) when a simple manicure and pedicure from her sister leads to a confession.

Kara hands the bottle of nail polish to her sister who immediately takes note of the color and raises a curious eyebrow. “Into the Fire,” Alex says, smacking the bottle against the palm of one hand. “Someone wants to feel pretty. What’s going on?”

Alex was always too observant for Kara’s own good. Kara places her feet in her Alex’s lap and shrugs her shoulders, rejecting her sister’s notion. “Sometimes a girl likes to feel pretty.”

“Oh, no,” Alex denies, refusing to allow her finely tuned instinct to simply be played off. “This is the stuff you wear when you want to feel sexy and invincible.”

“I am invincible,” Kara points out, grinning to hide her anxiety.

“Your heart isn’t,” Alex counters, cutting right to the quick. “What’s going on? You can tell me anything.”

Kara pulls her knees into her chest and shakes her head, allowing her hair to fall in front of her face, a shield from her sister’s scrutiny.

“I know that I’ve been a little self-involved lately, because of everything going on with Maggie—“

“Don’t say that,” Kara admonishes her. “You have every right to your own life. I’ve spent too many years being the sole focus of it. It’s your turn now; I wouldn’t dream of ruining this for you.”

Alex sighs and moves closer on the sofa to her sister. “Remember when you said that you felt like you hadn’t created a safe environment for me to feel like it was okay to tell you that I was gay?”

“Yes.”

“Well I feel that safe environment now and I want you to feel it too. I want this new openness to go both ways. So…will you please tell me what’s going on? Is it about…Mon-El?” After a moment of heavy silence, Alex takes an educated guess. “Is it about the kiss?”

Kara’s spine straightens, her eyes widening. “How did you know about that?”

“The infirmary is monitored 24/7,” Alex chuckles. “The whole thing was caught on tape.”

“Oh for the love of Rao!” Kara curses, smacking her palm against her forehead while Alex smiles indulgently at her. Off course there are cameras in the infirmary to monitor patients. What wouldn’t there be? “Who else knows?” Kara groans.

“Just me and J’onn…and Mom.”

“Eliza knows?”

“I believe her exact words were…’I tried to tell her.’”

“He was completely delirious, Alex! He had no idea what he was doing. He must have thought I was someone else.”

“’You look beautiful with the weight of all these worlds on your shoulders,’” Alex quoted with a smirk. “He seemed lucid enough to me.”

“Not lucid enough to remember it!” Kara’s lips turn down in a pout, while a wide grin spreads across Alex’s face.

“Okay.” Alex agrees, patting her sister indulgently on the leg while rolling her eyes, in that way a person does when they find a topic not worth arguing over. Instead of revealing her personal belief on the matter, Alex chooses to revisit their previous topic. “None of this explains the nail polish.”

“Fine,” Kara relents, a blush the color of cherries staining her cheeks. “Remember my senior prom…the discussion we had after…Garrett Echolls?” Garrett had been her prom date, who had clearly been hoping to end his senior year with more than a few slow dances under his belt. The night had not ended well for poor Garrett, and it’s entirely possible he still suffers the consequences.

“About how you found out you couldn’t…?”

Kara squeezes her eyes shut and nods her head vigorously, signaling her sister to say nothing more about that night. She had cried in Alex’s lap while her sister stroked her hair, promising everything would be all right, until long after the sun had breached the horizon. “I knew, after that night, I would probably never be able to have a normal romantic relationship. But it’s not like I could just…turn myself off.”

“Of course not.”

“I still dream about it. Fantasize. Only wanting the one thing I know I can’t have.” Kara shrugs, picking at the cuticles around her toenails. “I’m a 24 year old virgin.”

“That’s completely healthy, Kara. I promise you, you are not alone,” Alex attempts to soothe her. “And I haven’t given up hope that you can still have a normal relationship someday.”

“What if it doesn’t have to be ‘someday’?” A gleam of inspiration sparks in Kara’s eyes, and Alex is able to read her sister’s intent as easily as always.

“Mon-El,” Alex concludes, putting the pieces together. Kara imagines that her own face wore a similar expression when the idea had occurred to her.

“I had the same thought,” Kara professes. “So…I asked him to have sex with me.” Kara grimaces, waiting for Alex’s judgement to fall against her, or at the very least for her sister to display a look of uneasiness.

Instead, Alex’s jaw drops and her head tilts to one side, like she’s trying to right an entire world that’s gone suddenly askance. “Just like that? You just came out with it?”

“I took him to lunch, and I asked him he would help me. As a favor between friends.” Kara can hardly believe that Alex seems more concerned with the execution of her plan, than with the man she has asked to follow through on it. Her sister is not exactly Mon-El’s number one fan.

“I’m sure he jumped on the opportunity.” There it is. Alex’s voice betrays the lack of faith in Mon-El’s instincts that usually creeps into her thoughts.

“I thought he would too,” Kara recalls, “I was surprised when he wondered why there wasn’t someone else I could ask. Someone I’ve known longer. Then I had to explain why it had to be him, which was mortifying. He finally agreed and promised that he would take care of me. Apparently, courtiers to the Crown Prince are trained in all sorts of pleasure arts.”

”Ew,” Alex grimaces.

“I know, right?” Kara agrees. “Like…were they even governing at all?”

“You did say they were like frat boys.”

“Rumor had it that the last King of Daxam had close to seven hundred courtesans,” Kara gasps at the notion, as though gossiping about current events. “They don’t…didn’t…believe in monogamy and only used marriage to cement alliances. ‘Latching’ they called it. Latching is right! Latching on to someone else’s bank account or political power, I say. You know, it was said that the war between Krypton and Daxam was started because of a political marriage gone wrong.”

Alex, always up for hearing about the mysteries and intrigues of other planets, leans forward. She especially enjoys hearing the stories that Kara remembers from Krypton. In her mind, she likes to imagine herself on the distant, doomed planet, when it was still a thriving culture of democracy, and technology that Earth had yet to master. “What happened?”

“Well….” Kara settles back as though preparing for long tale. She pours herself a second glass of red wine to wash down the pot sticker she’s chewing one. Swallowing her treat, she continues with the story. “The story goes that during a yearly peace summit between the Kryptonian High Council and the Ruling House of Daxam, that the beautiful and beloved First daughter of a Kryptonian High Council Elder met the Crown Prince – not the most recent one, whoever he was,” she qualifies. “This was a hundred years before the Destruction. Anyway, they fell in love at first sight, according to the legend.”

“Sounds good so far.”

“It’s exactly how Romeo and Juliet begins.”

“Good point. Continue,” Alex implores, tipping her wine glass in Kara’s direction. The tingly warmth caused by her second glass of wine begins to spread beneath her skin. She’s anxious to hear how Kara’s story goes, but suspects she already knows its ending.

“Her name was Gata Fal-ur and according to history she was an internationally adored daughter of Krypton, loved by all – said to be demure but politically savvy, brilliant but also kind-hearted. The Prince, Trel-Gand, was said to be extremely handsome and passionate, with a keen mind for military stratagems. By all accounts, everyone was thrilled by the match. It provided a political alliance that was sorely needed at the time. The High Council hoped that having a Kryptonian future queen of Daxam would help soften the Daxamites xenophobic and isolationist stance – because good trade makes for good neighbors.”

“I thought that was ‘good fences make good neighbors’,”

“Not on Krypton,” Kara shakes her head. “So a huge wedding was planned.”

“An intergalactic wedding,” Alex points out.

“At first, the people of Daxam were not thrilled about their new Kryptonian princess-to-be, but her beauty and charm eventually won them over.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

Kara blushes, ignoring her sister’s comment. “They were blissfully happy…for a while.”

“But then?”

“Just days before she was to give birth to their heir, her beaten body was found in the palace gardens, her prince pacing over her in a rage, his fists covered in blood.”

Alex gasps and covers her mouth while Kara continues the story.

“He claimed that they were meant to meet in their favorite private spot in the sculpture garden for a picnic, but that when he arrived there was a man there trying to take her away. A man dressed in Kryptonian military garb. Gata called for his help and Trel-Gand claimed to have defended her against the attacker, beating him with his fists until he ran away, just before the guards arrived. But during the struggle, Gata was thrown backwards and hit her head on one of the stone sculptures, killing her instantly. He swore to avenge her and their unborn son, but few Kryptonians believed his story. As for the Prince, he was convinced that Kryptonian spies were responsible.”

“Did they test the blood?” Alex asks, always interested in the science of a good mystery.

“It was hers,” Kara confirms, sadly. “The Palace was locked down and searched, of course, but they never found evidence of an intruder, nor any witnesses.”

“So he did it,” Alex nods.

“The investigation later revealed traces of a quick metabolizing hallucinogen in his wine glass amongst the picnic things. He beat his pregnant wife to death believing that she was the intruder. Prince Trel-Gand hanged himself in the Grand Ballroom of the palace before the scrapes on his knuckles could even heal.”

“My God, it really was Romeo and Juliet. I guess it’s true what they always say about Shakespeare’s themes being universal. Only this time…literally.”

“Romeo and Juliet had a better ending.”

“How so?”

‘The people of Daxam blamed Krypton for the loss of their Crown Prince. Within hours of his death the Embassy was routed—a blatant act of war, just like it is here. Krypton was honor-bound to respond in kind. After Romeo and Juliet die, Prince Escalus brings everyone together and gives them a big shame-on-you. ‘See what a scourge is laid upon your hate that Heaven finds means to kill your joys with love’. Krypton and Daxam didn’t have that kind of united leadership. Gata was the daughter of the most senior member of The High Council. The Embassy on Daxam had been burned to the ground, killing hundreds of Kryptonians under a diplomatic billet. The High Council wanted blood, and the death of the Prince wasn’t enough.”

“Hence the bad blood between Krypton and Daxam.”

“Daxam was always on the xenophobic side, but before the deaths of Gata and Trel-Gand we were nowhere close to open warfare. That was the last time a Kryptonian mated with a Daxamite,” she chuckles, worriedly. “Not exactly a great track record between our cultures.” She wishes she had thought of the story of Gata Fal-Ur and Trel-Gand before approached Mon-El with her request. She likes him, she knows, but is it more than she should? Is it destined to end badly in some horrific tragedy of love gone wrong, like their forebears?

“Hey, Kara. That was a hundred years ago, and you’re not bound by Kryptonian or Daxam history anymore. Time for a fresh start.”

“You’re right,” Kara nods, shaking off her sudden melancholy. “Beside…it’s not like we’re getting married or anything. It’s just a favor.” She gulps down the rest of her wine and reaches for the bottle. “He’s just doing me a favor.”

“Are you sure this is what you want, Kara?” Alex grabs her sister’s hand and squeezes it.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because if human-made alcohol affected you, I’d be really worried by how fast you’re sucking down my favorite Shiraz right now.”

“I like the Shiraz too!” she protests, setting the nearly full goblet on the coffee table.

“Not like that,” Alex chuckles. “You only drink this fast when it’s a Peach Moscato.”

“I like the flavor,” Kara says, defensively. “Besides I’m saving the Moscato for tomorrow night.”

“Thus proving my point. So I ask you again…are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Kara nods, as though only just now making her final decision. “I know it’s not ideal, but I want to move forward with my life. I’m tired of feeling like I’m missing out on something important. I think this is the best way to make that happen.”

“Okay,” Alex replies, respecting Kara’s decision. “But if he hurts you, I will shoot him. And it won’t be a pansy shot to leg, either,” she promises. “And I _will_ use lead bullets. No copper jackets for the guy that deflowers my baby sister.”

“You’re not going to fight me on this?” Kara wonders, a little bit shocked that her sister isn’t even attempting to talk her out of it.

“Fight you on it? Why would I do that? Look…I know you’ve always had a lot of faith in Mon-El – maybe it’s more than he really deserves or maybe he has it in him to really step up, I don’t know – but you’ve seen an opportunity with him that might not be available forever. And it seems like you’ve put a lot of thought into your decision, which is more than we can say about your experience with poor Garrett Echols. I say…go for it.”

“Thank you, Alex.” Kara recalls there was something else she needs from Alex for her plan to succeed. “Oh! Alex, I was wondering if you can help with something.”

“I’m not buying you condoms,” she jokes, wagging a finger at her sister. “If you can’t ask for them yourself at the counter than you shouldn’t be having sex.”

“No, I did that this afternoon.”

“Good girl.”

“It’s for Mon-El.”

“Of course it is!”

“No, I mean the favor.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Get him a furlough pass for tomorrow night…?” Kara pleads. “It would be much more discreet if he could arrive alone and return alone.”

“Yeah,” Alex scoffs, “I’m guessing you don’t want agents standing outside of your apartment while he’s…initiating you into the ways of love.” Alex lowers her voice to its huskiest and follows this up with a few air smooches.

“Could you… _not_ …say it like that?” Kara grimaces, trying desperately not to laugh. “Anyway…can you do it?”

“What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t bust your alien paramour out of the DEO for a night so you can get laid?” she smiles, taking a sip from her wine.

“And let’s not call him that either.”

“You’re no fun,” Alex pouts. “Just so you know…I expect you to tell me how everything goes. I mean…not all the gory details because…gross,” Alex hastens to qualify. “I just meant I want to make sure it’s all that you hoped for or wanted…or whatever.”

“Deal,” Kara agrees. She chews on her bottom lip as though worrying over a particular question. “Hey…what did you mean when you said it might not be an opportunity that would be around forever?”

Alex sets down her wine glass with a sigh. “Well, I don’t really get it myself, but he really seems to attract the ladies, and not just the human ones either. Apparently they find him charming and…not entirely resistible. All I meant, was that it could only be a matter of time before he’s attached to someone…or a petri dish for venereal diseases from a dozen galaxies…one or the other. So, get him while he’s hot.”

“Oh,” Kara grimaces.

“Tomorrow night, huh?” Alex asks.

“Tomorrow night.”

“Well then, someone needs to have their nails dressed in their sexiest color.” Alex reaches from Kara’s feet and sets to the task of grooming her little sister for the big night ahead of her.

 

****

Mon-El dangles one-handed from a structural beam on the ceiling of the gym in the DEO. The gym was one of his favorite rooms in the DEO, because even though its cameras record his every move, for some reason they feel it unnecessary to place directional mikes within these four walls. He guesses that listening to the repetitive sound of heavy metal weights clanking against each other, or slamming to the ground is nobody’s idea of fun. So here is the one place he could talk…about Kara.

And so, feeling unable to voice his feelings and concerns to friends he’s made here, he speaks of her out loud while alone in the room because there are times when Kara is the only actual person he feels comfortable talking to…about Kara. Perhaps it’s because everyone in this place is just as emotionally attached to her as he is.

He’s always sensed there was some history there between Kara and James, although now that he knows her secrets, he’s fairly certain he knows why that didn’t work out. Knowing what he knows about Kara, Mon-El guess that she threw herself on her sword in that relationship. Whatever happened, they managed to remain friends, so it must not have gotten too far. Mon-El wonders—worries—that Kara will seek James out to rekindle their relationship once she’s done with him.

Winn is another story entirely. The talented techie carries an affection for Kara that remains, and is likely to always remain, unrequited. He can’t talk to Winn about tomorrow night. Mon-El likes his friend too much to watch his face fill with hurt and disappointment, like the wallflower never asked to dance. Maybe when the DEO loosens its reigns on him a bit more, he can provide instruction to Winn on the proper way to charm a lady, someone beautiful and kind, and more suited to his personality.

J’onn J’onzz has always been friendly to him, even mentoring him at times. But the man considers himself a father figure to Kara, and would likely shoot him full of bullet holes if Mon-El asked for advice on how best to seduce his surrogate daughter. And that would be after he flew him to the stratosphere and dropped him like a hot potato.

All reasons why he hadn’t been able to tell anyone about the kiss.

At times like these, Mon-El aches for the presence of Morgon-Ral, his lifelong friend and constant companion in the Daxam court. He was the man who had thrown him into the Kryptonian pod and sent him on his journey to Earth. He misses Ral every day, often turning to tell him about something before realizing once again that he’s gone, his bones having turned to dust on Daxam decades ago.

He’s not sure exactly when it started, but at some point he began talking to the long-lost Morgon out loud, as though they were in the same room together, as they so often were in his old life. Ever aware of the listening devices spread throughout the DEO, as well as the cameras that never ceased recording, he speaks to him only in the gym, using frequent workouts as a plausible cover. During these interludes, he wears a music playing device and headphones, so that on camera it will appear he is mouthing the words to lyrics. Sometimes, it is as if Mon-El can still feel his friend’s presence, like a phantom limb whose digits continue to tingle.

“I think you’d like her, Ral,” he says, lifting his chin to the beam before dropping back down. “Who am I kidding? She’d like you better anyway, if I’m sure of anything. She’s just your type. Soft-hearted, but tough when it matters. She’d take your breath away.”

Ral had always been so damn sanctimonious when it came to women. While Mon-El rarely had fewer than three women on his arm on any given day, Ral was choosy and always loyal to his partners. Forever searching for the perfect latch-mate, it saddens Mon-El that his friend didn’t live long enough to find the right mate for him.

If Ral could see him now, he’d have a thing or two to say about Mon-El’s state of mind. Fill his ears about how to properly treat a girl like Kara Zor-El, Kryptonian or not. And for maybe the first time in his entire wasted life, Mon-El wants hear every last piece of advice his dead friend can offer. Completing his pull-up reps, Mon-El slides his legs up over the beam, until he’s hanging upside down.

“I could really use your wisdom right now, Ral. I want to get this right – to be right for her. But it seems like every choice I make…isn’t.”

“Be honest with her,” Ral’s voice whispers.

“About…?”

“In the name of Sodam Yat,” his friend curses, “if you have to ask then you have too many plates spinning, my friend. Honest about the kiss, you idiot.”

“You know what happened to the last person who called me that?” Mon-El asks, rolling his eyes.

“Good thing I’m dead then.”

“Like I need the reminder,” he sighs. “Maybe you’re right; maybe I should tell her I remember the kiss. I mean, it’s not like she can pretend to have forgotten about it.”

“That’s the spirit. Tell her about your feelings too.” That was Ral, all around. Honest about his feelings, and never afraid to say the things that really mattered, even if they got him in trouble. Even if he knew they weren’t reciprocated. If he saw a woman that interested him, he went after her without hesitation – like a gut-check – and he never backed down. While Mon-El surrounded himself with attractive women just so that he wouldn’t feel those things, Ral refused to settle for less than the grandness of emotion.

In the twenty-one years they had known each other, since meeting as children, Morgon-Ral had chosen only three long-term pleasure-partners and loved each one of them fiercely. Though ultimately none of them had been a perfect match, Ral never regretted a single one of them, no matter what pain had followed their departure.

“Look, Ral,” Mon-El laments in defeat. “I’m not like you. I can’t just walk up to her and tell her that I…that I….” he drifts off.

“That you love her?”

Mon-El ignores the presumption of his friend. “And anyway, she made it very clear that she wanted this to be about friends. Telling her my feelings will completely throw her for a loop. She’ll probably show me the door.”

“Okay, so don’t tell her your feelings,” Ral course corrects. “Tell her that you want to be more than friends and then give her a chance to think about it.”

“In my experience, when women have the chance to ‘think’ about things, that doesn’t usually end in my favor.”

“Yes, but she’s Kryptonian, right? So that’s a whole different roll of the turban.”

“She’s nervous and awkward,” Mon-El tells him, a sentimental smile spreading across his face. “About everything, but especially about this. You should have seen her…all blushing and mortified. It was adorable.”

“Who _ **are**_ you?”

The smile droops from Mon-El’s face. “I don’t know anymore. I’m not sure. I just know that…whoever I am…is not good enough.”

“Wow,” Ral exclaims. “Did that stasis pod contain a personality rehabilitation program in it?”

Mon-El freezes for a moment, then remembers that Winn had done a full software diagnostic on the pod and found nothing but dream programs and navigational charts. “Nope,” he says, swinging back and forth by his knees. “It’s all me apparently.”

“Hey, you know what this is like? It’s like that story.”

“It’s _not_ like that story!” Mon-El insists. He grits his teeth together because he does not want to hear _this_.

“You love that story.”

“No, _you_ loved that story.”

“C’mon! Kryptonian girl and Daxam boy.”

“Don’t.”

“Playboy prince falls in love with the First daughter of Krypton.”

“I am not a prince, Ral!”

“Whatever,” Ral replies, and Mon-El can practically see him rolling his eyes and running a hand through his blonde hair. “I’m talking about him, not you. Their love was legendary.”

“Their love caused a bloody war that killed hundreds of thousands.”

‘It wasn’t their love that caused that; it was the people who took advantage of a terrible, unforeseen event to gain power for themselves. What Trel-Gand did was an act of true love. It’s just too bad that the no one discovered what really happened until it was all over. The Kryptonian High Council wouldn’t listen to the truth, even with the letters as evidence.”

“I’ll never understand why you insist on seeing that story as one with a happy ending.” He had heard it all before, back in their wilder days, how Ral wanted a love like that. One that would consume him, burn him alive from the inside out; one that he would do anything for. Die for…or worse.

“Hey,” Ral reminds him, nonchalantly. “They’re together forever now, aren’t they?”

There was a piece of logic he couldn’t refute. “Yeah…I guess they are.”

“We just need to make sure you have a better ending, my friend.”

“How do you think that will happen?” Mon-El snorts, a most unmanly and ignoble form of expression.

“No worries, because I have a plan. You just need to follow my lead.”

Mon-El’s knees release the beam and he falls head first towards the cement floor, flipping at the last moment to land spectacularly on his feet. “Well…this ought to be good.”

 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we can't wait to let go, and sometimes we hang on too tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word of warning: Whatever you do, DO NOT think about Charlie Puth’s “See You Again” while reading this fic. It came on the radio when I was writing the back half of the Morgon-Ral scene and I’m still working my way through the bottle of wine I used to cope with the emotional breakdown.
> 
> Also, things get a little more hot and heavy in this chapter. I’d rate it an M, but not fully Explicit. I talk about body parts so this is your last chance to back out!
> 
> Constructive comments and pure love are always appreciated – flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.

A blowout always makes her feel pretty, leaving her hair flowing about her shoulders, silky and smooth to the touch. And after the day Supergirl had, Kara desperately needed it. Flying from crime scene to crime scene wreaks havoc on her golden locks, leaving them tough to run a brush through (tough on the brush) if she isn’t careful to groom throughout the day. Yet another reason her hair goes immediately into an up-do or a ponytail as soon as she returns to being a reporter.

Back in her apartment, Kara paces in front of her closet, debating what to wear. In her fantasies she’s always imagined herself wearing lingerie, something that would knock her partner’s socks off, but questions whether that’s appropriate when the whole exercise is just a means to an end. She finally decides on something somewhere in the middle of the work clothes she’s currently wearing and the deep purple corset with matching string bikini she has buried in the back of her closet. She’d purchased the ensemble last year at a friend’s lingerie party, but it remains in the pretty black box, still encased in the protective plastic.

Filled with a sense of satisfaction, she chooses a pajama set Eliza gifted her with last Christmas. Muted aqua, it’s a simple spaghetti strap satin tunic that drapes to just above her knees, paired with a matching robe that ties at the waist. The front of the robe is embroidered with designs resembling bamboo shoots, evoking the simple beauty of the Asian sensibility. She considers footwear and discards the idea because her slippers make her look dowdy. Barefoot is better, she decides, like she’s projecting a confidence and comfort in her own home that she really isn’t feeling. Plus, Alex worked so hard to get her toes just right.

Though it has no physiological effect on her body, she uncorks a bottle of wine and pours a glass. Kara learned a few years ago that, if she allowed it, she could find the act of imbibing alcoholic beverages relaxing. Alex calls it a psychosomatic reaction. She worries that she doesn’t feel sexy or aroused at all. She should feel aroused, right? A handsome man with a ridiculously affecting smile is on his way over to her place right this minute to relieve her of her virginity. There should be some twinge of arousal, one would think.

Kara pours herself a second generous glass of Peach Moscato (What? She likes the way it tastes!!), then tips her glass back, enjoying the way the sweetly flavored bubbles dance on her tongue.

Mon-El. She sighs when she remembers the first time she saw him. Tearing off the hatch of his (stolen) Kryptonian pod and looking down at his serenely sleeping, preposterously handsome face (and that was _before_ she’d seen him smile!), she’d been terrified and overjoyed at the same time. Another Kryptonian? Perhaps there were others floating amongst the stars!

It had taken days for the Earth’s yellow sun to work its magic on him. And work its magic it did. Awakening from his stasis in the DEO infirmary to find her sitting at his bedside, he had grabbed her throat and thrown her across the room. After tearing through the DEO, he’d jumped from the top floor and disappeared into the night. It was only after finally tracking him down to find him sending a distress call to his home world that they discovered he wasn’t Kryptonian after all, but rather from Daxam. Krypton and Daxam, two planets in the same solar system, had a long bloody history of cultural and moral differences. Kara freely admits this information did much to color her view of him from that point on; it had very nearly ended their friendship before it had begun.

But is it a friendship, really? She wonders, perhaps not quite idly. Sometimes she catches him looking at her with a certain look in his eyes, and an expression that turns her insides to molten lava. Even before the delirious kiss, Kara had caught herself looking at him too, when she knew his thoughts were otherwise occupied. She’d seen the reticence that comes from losing your whole world and finding yourself on a new one, but also the hope that springs when you realize you might be able to get a piece of it back. And though he denies the desire to be a hero, she recalls the way he begged her not to solar flare when they were being held hostage by Cadmus. The raw fear in his voice still rings in her ears. He cares for her, but only because in some ways, she’s his last connection to Daxam.

He doesn’t even remember kissing her, and she tries to tell herself that it doesn’t hurt just a little to be so easily forgotten, even if he had been running a temperature of 114 degrees at the time. Just as she had tried to convince herself that she hadn’t felt a spark of red hot fire when his lips touched hers; hadn’t felt a timid hope kindle within her breast like a baby bird poking its beak through its shell for the first time.

She’d meant to keep an ear out, but the wine and her thoughts do an admirable job of distracting her, so she startles a bit when there’s a knock on the door. She listens for a moment before setting down her glass on the kitchen counter. His heart is racing, she realizes with a smile.

He’s just as nervous as she is, muttering under his breath, and she wonders if she should be nervous about _that_.

****

It takes everything within him not to speed to her apartment. After signing out of the DEO, with instructions to return no later than 6 AM, he heads uptown to Kara’s home. He could be there in less than a minute, but thinks that perhaps a nice long stroll would be in order. He needs some time to think things through.

“So you know what you’re going to say?” Ral interrupts his thoughts.

“I think I can handle this, thanks,” Mon-El snaps.

“No need to get testy, I’m only trying to help. Stick to the plan.”

“It’s not much of a plan,” Mon-El taunts.

“What can I say? You’re not giving me much to work with here. If you were willing to tell her you love her, I could come up with something to really knock her pants off.”

“Socks,” he corrects, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “I think it’s socks.”

“Not tonight, it’s not,” Ral leers a little, in a manner much more consistent with Mon-El’s behavior back in the day. He is not amused. “So, earlier…you did what I told you to do, right?”

“Yes,” Mon-El growls unhappily.

“You’ll thank me later. Remember ‘control’ is the watchword.”

“’Control’ is the watchword,” he echoes the catchphrase drilled into them during their training. Masturbation was frowned upon on Daxam, unless part of a fantasy or wish fulfillment scenario. Why pleasure oneself when there were so many partners, both male and female, willing and eager to seek pleasure with you? It was long ago deemed a selfish act in their culture. But just an hour ago Mon-El had been in the shower, jerking at his cock like he was twelve years old again, trying to figure out how to make the damn thing obey his commands. But he isn’t about to admit to Ral that he does feel better, more relaxed, as a result. He is still embarrassed that he’d done it in the first place. How badly he’d needed to.

“I’m not sure you understand how different it’s going to be,” Ral frets. “It could catch you off guard and you could spin out of control and that would be bad.”

Mon-El chuckles. “Now you’re starting to sound like her. Don’t be such a worrier. I think I know my way around a woman. A few hundred women, if memory serves. I’m not spinning anywhere.”

“But this will be _different_ ,” Ral warns. “When you’re with someone you genuinely care about, it’s not just about giving and receiving pleasure. Something much deeper is exchanged.

“Like what?”

“It’s…impossible to explain.”

“You’re no help.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you never wanted to talk about this when I was alive.”

“I know,” Mon-El says with a wince. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, look!” Ral shouts, pointing Mon-El in a direction across the street. “We should bring her flowers.”

On the corner of the street up ahead is a bodega with a buckets of flowers placed outside. Mon-El recalls from the many ‘rom-coms’ he’s viewed that flowers are a common theme in the courting of Earth women and decides that Ral is probably right on this one too. He crosses the street and approaches the bodega, a man out front replenishing the supply of fruit behind the flowers. Mon-El studies the buckets, searching for flowers that seem most like Kara. He finds them in multi-colored pastel petals that are delicate to the touch and dark yellow centers that remind him of Kara’s golden curls.

“Excuse me?” he asks the man a few feet away. He’s heavy set and wears a dirty white apron, but greets him with a friendly smile. “What are these called?”

“Forget-me-nots,” the man replies in a thick accent Mon-El can’t hope to place. “Would you like a bundle? $5.99,” he says. “End of the day price.”

“Forget-me-nots!” Ral rejoices. “Perfect. I think it sends just the right message.”

Mon-El ignores Ral and reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, withdrawing a ten-dollar bill and handing it to the shop owner. It’s the last of his currency, so he waits as the man disappears into the bodega to retrieve his change. Mon-El sighs; he doesn’t receive his next stipend from the DEO for another week. He needs to find a job – for real this time.

“What about the bar?” Ral asks.

“What about it?” The bar that started all of this. The bar where he was exposed to the Kryptonian virus that made him so sick he lost his mind and kissed Kara.

“It’s opening back up in a few weeks and I hear they’re looking for employees. It could be great, brother. You can learn an important skill, and keep your eyes open and ears to the ground for information to give to Supergirl. You can help keep her safe.”

“It’s not a bad idea actually,” he replies, just as the man steps through the door to bring him his change. He looks around in order to ascertain to whom Mon-El is speaking, confused to see no one. “Just…talking to myself,” Mon-El covers, badly. “It’s a habit I’m trying to break.”

“For your lady?” the man asks, nodding his head towards the bundle of pink and blue flowers as he hands Mon-El the change.

“Yes,” Mon-El replies. “I mean…I hope so…someday.”

“There is a story,” the man says, “about how they got their name.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“A knight courting his lady, took her on a stroll along a beautiful stream, with flowers all along its banks. Wishing to see her smile, he bent over to pick the flowers for her, but his suit of armor was so heavy, he tipped over into the water. Before the current and the weight of his armor could pull him under, he threw his lady the flowers and bid her to ‘forget me not’. So…forget-me-nots.”

Mon-El’s heart sinks. Another tragic romance? He thinks about asking for another bouquet to replace the heartbreaking flower bundle of death, but the shop owner is so enamored by the story, he doesn’t have the heart. Kara always seems to place a high premium on people’s feelings, so instead he swallows and says, “That’s…great. Have a good night.” He waves before turning and walking away.

“Good luck with your lady,” the man calls after him. “Here’s to ‘someday’!”

“Word of advice,” Ral interjects. “Do _not_ tell her that story.”

“Way ahead of you, brother.”

“Besides, it’s not _really_ romantic unless the lady throws herself in after him.”

Mon-El stops in his tracks, struck by a sudden and horrible thought. He gasps, forced to swallow the pit that’s formed behind the back of his tongue. “You went back for someone!” he understands, at last. It’s as if the knowledge has been there all along, but he’s only just now allowing himself to see it. Mon-El’s revelation is answered only with notable silence from Ral. “That’s why you put me in pod and left. You went back for someone.”

“I knew _I_ was going to be okay,” Ral answers softly. “But first I needed to make sure you were going to be too.”

“You stupid bastard.” His fist clamps around the stems of the forget-me-not, his whole body surging with anger and grief. “I wasn’t worth it.”

“Well, we’re never going to agree with each other on that topic, so I’m going to just say this. I found what I was looking for; to ask for more would have been greedy.”

“You tried to tell me and I didn’t listen. You must have.”

“We decided to keep it a secret for a while.”

“Because of me?”

Ral shrugs. “Latching was going to change everything, and I guess…I wanted a little more time. That’s on me. I made that choice, and I never regretted it, not for a moment. In the end it made no difference anyway.”

“You should have told me. I thought we had no secrets from each other.”

Ral laughs, tilting his head back the way he always did and letting the sound rip with abandon. “We didn’t, don’t you see?” he says, at last. “You saw the signs…knew something was different. You knew me so well. I couldn’t have asked for a better brother-in-arms.” Mon-El can almost—almost—feel Ral’s hand on his shoulder. “Would we be having this conversation if you _hadn’t_ known? Somewhere…deep down?”

“I guess not.”

“You listened with your heart, brother, and that’s what mattered. You should do more of that. Something tells me…it won’t steer you wrong.”

‘What if I can’t?” Mon-El wonders. He feels as though he’s stepping off a ledge into a void without solid ground. Shaping a new self for this new life that’s been thrust upon him, unwanted and unexpected – which somehow makes it seem all the more preordained. “What if I don’t know how?”

“That’s what you have me for, my friend. I found my perfect match; now let me help you find yours.”

When he looks up, Mon-El is standing in front of Kara’s building. It’s an old stone warehouse converted into loft and apartment space, but it stands before him like a stalwart sentry. He paces in front of the stoop and checks his watch. Despite the long walk he’s a little early and worries about appearing too eager. Just as he’s about to ring the buzzer for entry, a woman steps out of the door dragging her yappy dog on a leash behind her.

Mon-El holds the door for her and slips inside the building when she’s gone, using his super-speed to reach the secondary security door just before it clicks shut. He foregoes the elevator and takes the stairs to the top floor at normal speed, each flight ratcheting his heart rate until it feels though it’s going to beat right out of his chest.

“Just relax, my friend. Remember…‘Control is the—“

“’’Control is the watchword’. I remember.” Mon-El reaches the landing on her floor and approaches the door. Bright light spills out from underneath, illuminating his stylish wingtips. His clenched fist hovers over the door as he wills himself to knock, but his hand refuses to cooperate.

“Remember the plan.”

“Okay, now you’re just being annoying.”

“Would you like me to go?”

“That’d be great. I’ve got this.”

“Well, if you need me…you know where I am.”

“That I do.”

Ral looks at Mon-El and then at his fist hovering over the door, and then back at Mon-El, one eyebrow comically skewed upwards. “Here let me help you with that.” He takes control of Mon-El’s fist, knocking it twice against the wooden surface. “You’re welcome,” he says, a sly, mischievous smile on his face.

“Take a hike, Ral.”

“Just being a good wing-man“

“Get out!”

“Copy that.”

“Hey, Ral?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Ral shrugs, using deceptively blasé body language. “Hey…Bonds of Val-Or, right?”

Mon-El exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and drops his head to his chest as if in prayer. “Always.”

“Now go get her.”

There’s a subtle sensation of withdrawal and Mon-El stands all alone in the Kara’s corridor. A shadow moves through the light beneath the door and he can hear the unlatching of multiple locks, before the door swings slowly open.

His mouth goes dry when he sees her, backlit and beautiful, and he wishes that he hadn’t been quite so hasty about sending Ral away. Taking in the sight of her, in a state of undress he’s never before witnessed, Mon-El is momentarily struck dumb, his mouth opening and closing before words of greeting can issue forth.

 

****

She tightens the belt of her satin robe almost to the point of breaking it before padding across the hardwood floor to the door. With one last steadying breath, she turns the knob to find him standing in her corridor holding a bouquet of flowers while running his fingers through his hair, as though making a last minute effort to groom his already tidy appearance.

“Were you talking to someone?” she asks. “I thought I heard talking.”

Mon-El blanches, chagrined. “Must have been the neighbor across the hall.” He points his thumb at the neighbor’s door.

“That must be it.” She dons her most pleasant and pacifying smile; the one she uses with hostage-takers. “He’s always talking to football games, like that makes a difference.” She plays it off to spare him the embarrassment, but she’s convinced he was talking to himself.

“Yeah,” he scoffs, nervously. “Stupid.”

“You brought flowers,” Kara points out, hoping for a conversation starter. Her voice rasps, her mouth gone abruptly dry at the sight of him. Looking like he just stepped out of an Ivy League men’s clothing catalogue, he’s wearing a surprisingly red pair of neatly pressed chinos paired with a white Oxford button up with a blue and red plaid tie. Over the shirt and tie is a thick button up sweater made of fine dark blue wool; only the middle two buttons are buttoned.

“Yeah,” he snaps to, as though waking from a good dream and hands her the flowers. “According to the courting rituals of this country, it’s customary to offer a transitory gift of some kind when beginning a courtship. As best as I’m able to glean, the flowers will be dead in a few days and therefore symbolize a less than permanent arrangement. Unlike diamonds,” he informs her confidently. “Which are apparently forever.”

“Come in. The flowers are…lovely,” she compliments. The stems have seen better days, she notes, as though they’ve been tightly gripped in his hands. “I’ll just put them in a vase.”

“They’re called Forget-Me-Nots, I’m told. They made me think of you.” He starts to say something about how unforgettable she is, but stops himself, cringing at his own cheesiness.

‘It’s okay to be cheesy,’ Ral pops in.

Not accustomed to wooing women, Mon-El finds himself a little out of his depth. Back home, women were the ones usually trying to woo him. Kara’s already halfway to the kitchen and filling up a vase, while Mon-El closes the door behind him, and latches the locks.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” she offers, nodding her head toward the bottle.

“Alcoholic beverages from Earth don’t affect us,” he points out. Mon-El lifts the bottle, tilting it toward the light and finding it more than half gone.

“I’ve had two glasses already,” she confesses, sheepishly.

“But why?

“I like the way it tastes. Sweet and tangy.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Would you like to try it?” she offers again, reaching for the empty glass she pulled out for him earlier

He reaches for the goblet on the counter, but stops when Ral interrupts him. “Don’t you _dare_ take that glass,” his friend hisses. “You don’t need it.”

Mon-El pulls back his hand and takes a deep breath, clearing his throat. “I think I will have a taste,” he replies, his voice dropping in register as his eyes zero in on her lips. He steps toward her, placing a hand on her jaw before slipping it under her ear until he’s cupping her head, his thumb stroking her cheek.

Her lungs hitch in her chest and his lips descend upon hers before she has a chance to recover. It’s like the kiss in the infirmary all over again. Her insides melt as though her bones have lost all of their considerable tensile strength and she’s afraid if the kiss goes further, her legs will be unable to hold her. Of their own accord, her hands find his shoulders and hold on tight. As though reading her mind, Mon-El’s other arm snakes around her waist to offer support, and even though she knows her feet are firmly on the ground, she feels like she’s floating.

The tip of his tongue on her lower lip tenderly demands entrance and she obliges without a hint of resistance, opening her mouth to his gentle invasion. It is a masterful seduction by mouth, his tongue promising more and more, but never more than she wants, and not one bit less than what she needs. He tastes her, and finding her to his liking, feasts upon her mouth, lips and tongue as though seated at the finest court banquet.

By the time he pulls away, her mouth, of its own free will, chases after him for one last fleeting kiss. So intent on what she was feeling, she had forgotten to catalogue the flavor of him. The taste on her tongue now begs for more. She sighs, her eyes closed, clearly affected by this technique.

“You’re right,” he whispers, his breath shallow and fast, his forehead resting against hers. He is no less affected by their kiss than she appears. At one point during the kiss, her hand had made its way to the center of his chest, where she can now feel his heart racing beneath her fingertips. “Sweet and tangy. Mostly sweet. Even better than I remember.”

“What?” she asks, leaning away from him. Mon-El’s arm tightens its grip to keep her body against his, so she can’t go too far. She capitulates easily, relaxing in his arms.

“I lied before,” he confesses looking straight into her cornflower blue eyes. “About not remembering the kiss. I remember. There’s no way I could forget.” He keeps his eyes on her face, searching for some signs of anger or betrayal.

“Then why—“ Her forehead crinkles, like it always does when she’s disappointed in him.

“You were embarrassed,” he admits, reluctantly releasing her from his embrace to give her some distance. He shrugs his shoulders as he continues to explain. “I didn’t want you to be embarrassed. What’s more, I didn’t want to be the _source_ of your embarrassment. You had that look on your face like you were going to let me down easy. And you wanted to ‘talk’ about it. You shouldn’t have to talk after a kiss, Kara. The kiss should say everything that needs saying.”

“And did your kiss…say everything?”

“Yes,” he confesses. “But I was willing to let it go, if that was all it was ever going to be, Kara.”

“But…I don’t understand.”

“But…then you asked me to do this favor for you and I didn’t want to enter into this agreement without there being honesty between us. I think you deserve that much.”

“You do?”

“And more, Kara, so much more. Maybe more than I can ever give you.” He wonders if he can ever be a man worthy of her. Wonders if just being near him will taint everything that’s good and pure about her – everything for which he’s already fallen so deeply.

His lips turn down into a frown, as though disappointed by something. “Wait,” she breathes. “Are you…backing out?”

“No.” He chuckles, the laugh bearing a distinct melancholic ring to it and adds, “I’m not sure I’m man enough to do that.”

Something in his voice grabs her attention. There’s been something about him lately, since the Cadmus released the Medusa virus, maybe even before then, that has her wondering just how wrong she was about him in the beginning. She takes a harder look at him, seeing beyond the flashy fashion style meant to draw her in, to perceive something deeper in him. The slight downwards turn to his normally smiling mouth and the haunted look in his eyes.

“Mon-El? Are you okay? You seem….” She trails off before she can say the word ‘sad’ out loud. Because in her mind, Mon-El is supposed to be thoroughly unserious until it matters. ‘Sad’ is not a word she associates with him.

“Fine,” he replies. He smiles a second later, but the display of mirth doesn’t extend to his eyes. “Just…missing old friends.”

“Oh,” she deflates. It’s so easy to forget that he’s lost everything he ever knew and has every right to still be curled in the fetal position in a cell at the DEO. But he chooses to get up every day, to breath in and out, to learn the ways of this world, and to keep moving forward. It’s a feat that brings a burst of admiration to her chest as she gazes at him. This beautiful, strong man, whose strength has nothing to do with lifting cars or leaping from the tops of buildings.

Kara takes him in her arms and tucks her face into his warm and welcoming neck, curved as though her head was always meant to rest there. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

He breathes her in, as though tasting air for the first time after being buried underground for an eternity. Mon-El’s arms hang motionless from his shoulders as he allows her to just hold him. He didn’t know until this moment, how much he just needed to be held. She is sunlight and all that is good and he will never be worthy of her. But all he can do is keep trying and vow to never stop.

After a long moment, her hand glides down and slips into his, palms together, their fingers intertwining. He could stand like this all night and ask nothing more from her. But he made her a promise, and he couldn’t bear to disappoint her again. Loath to release her hand, Mon-El wraps his other arm around her waist and pulls her so close, until there’s no space between them.

“Like I said,” he begins, softly, disinclined to break the spell between them. “I think you deserve honesty, so before we go any further tonight, I think it’s best if I tell you that…I’m throwing my hat into the ring.”

“You are?”

“That’s the correct phrase, right? Throwing the hat?”

“Yes,” she chuckles into his neck, sending a shiver racing down his spine. “I’m familiar with the phrase.”

“So you’ve heard it a lot?”

“It’s a common enough idiom. But you’re the first guy who’s actually said those words to me.”

“I am?” he asks, hopefully.

Kara nods. “There are no other hats in the ring. I’m not sure there’s even a ring.”

“Are you sure you don’t need those glasses of yours?”

“What do you mean?” Habitually, she reaches up to press the glasses she isn’t wearing against the bridge of her nose, forgetting that she left them on her bathroom counter. Already, he misses the feel of her fingers tangled with his, so instead he sinks his now empty hand into her silky hair, gently massaging her scalp. Her knees wobble like cheap cardboard and she locks them to keep them from folding beneath her.

“They all want you, Kara. James, Winn, that guy from Earth-Prime – I read the after-action report.”

“Heatwave?”

“Yes!”

“Eww. He just liked calling me ‘Skirt’. He’s like a Mangovian, only slightly less evolved.”

Mon-El laughs at her joke, picturing the yellow-skinned Mangovian, with its prickly spine, three eyes and paws made for crushing rock. “Probably Barry, too,” he adds, for good measure.

“He has a girlfriend.”

“Good.”

“You’re…jealous?” She’s struck by how thrilled she is by the possibility of his jealousy. That he wants her – wants to be with her – wants to fight for her.

Mon-El wonders how it might have gone if only he’d answered to the affirmative when she’d questioned him that day back in quarantine. Might it have been easier if he had simply said ‘yes’ when she asked if he wanted to mate with her? Would that have planted a seed, or would she have run from him?

“Yes. Are you happy?” he replies, pulling her tighter to him to punctuate his assertion. Finally, he gives her the honesty he couldn’t give her before, the honesty that he has promised her. “So, I’m also going to say this. I’m going to do whatever it takes to win your heart, Kara. I’m going to find a way to be the man you want me to be starting tonight, by being the man you _need_ me to be. I’m going to be the first man you take to your bed, and then, when you’re satisfied, I hope…you’re going to know you want me to be the last.”

Deep inside she knows that her heart is already halfway his, and if the feel of his mouth on hers or the way she fits against his body are any indications, then she is destined for a fight if she wants to keep any part of it for herself. No one had ever been this candid or honest with her before, and she finds it undeniably disarming. Kara is pretty certain that no amount of ‘Into the Fire’ is going to keep her heart invincible from the man who stands before her.

“Mon-El?”

“Yes?’

“Maybe the next thing you say…you should say with a kiss.”

Answering her invitation with superhuman speed, Mon-El cups her face with both hands as their lips meet, his thumbs brushing over her ears. He sips on her lower lip before moving on to take the upper lip between his. He pulls back and then takes her mouth again and again, each time attacking with a new weapon or tactic. First with lips, then with tongue and finally, with teeth. His kisses tell her that he dreams of this, lying alone in his cot at night he’s imagined a thousand ways to kiss her and these are but a few.

With each kiss the temperature rises within her. The satin robe and nightgown, which earlier had felt silky and ephemeral against her skin, now feels as an unwanted burden upon her. Millions of nerve endings in her flesh awaken and they seem angry to have been kept sleeping for so very long. Nothing, no other kiss or touch, has ever made her feel like this. Her breasts are heavy with want, her nipples singing out for a soothing balm. Kara attempts to alleviate the ache by pressing her chest harder against his, but her breasts are less than appeased.

Her arms wrap around his neck, knees buckling slightly until her hips cant into his. Were he a human man, the strength of her grip would have bones bending beneath the pressure, but he merely gasps at the electric contact of her hips against his, her chest against his. He splays a hand along her middle back and presses her entire body flush against his, encouraging her own grip to tighten.

“Too hard?” she tears her lips away from his to ask. Almost immediately she wants to own his mouth again, but must wait for him to answer.

He shakes his head at her inquiry, unable to look at anything but her kiss-swollen lips. “Not hard enough. Don’t be afraid of hurting me,” he counsels. “I don’t mind a little pain, especially when it’s paired with pleasure.” Smirking suggestively for good measure, Mon-El is thoroughly charmed when Kara giggles and then blushes like the virgin she is. “But we can explore that another time. If you want.”

Kara brushes aside his implication that there will more of this, whatever this is, and chooses to devote thought to it at another time. Because all she can process reliably right now is her sense of touch. She is wearing too many clothes, and if that is true for her than it is surely true for him. Her fingers yearn to touch his skin, but she’s hampered by the thick cardigan he wears. Of their own volition it seems, her fingers reach for the two leather-encased buttons and manages to free them without destroying the sweater. His lips and tongue still exploring her mouth, he shakes off the sweater without a thought, dropping it on the floor at their feet.

Next, a single finger is sliding under the Windsor knot of his plaid tie and tugging it loose incrementally until at last it unravels, leaving two long ends hanging around either side of his neck. A second later the tie joins his sweater on the floor. Mon-El’s mouth releases hers, and she doesn’t want him to stop kissing her, not for a second, but at the same time she wants more and she doesn’t know how to reconcile the two concepts.

“Why are you stopping?” she queries, her eyes frantically search for his, but find them otherwise focused. Glancing down, Kara finds Mon-El’s fingers toying with the tie of her robe and she wonders why he’s hesitating. Her lungs, it seems, have expanded this night, feeling like a bottomless well of capacity, yet only able to accept fuel in small, shallow increments.

“I once told you that I was placing myself in your hands, Kara. Will you now place yourself in mine?” he asks, lifting his slate-gray eyes to meet hers. For the first time in his life, he is unsure of his next step and what it might mean, and perhaps more importantly where it might lead. Mon-El knows that he has never felt about anyone the way he feels about the breathtaking woman before him.

“Yes,” she answers, without a blink, her gaze holding his. Kara is struck by the uncertainty she sees in the depths of his gray eyes. When he tugs the end of the bow, the satin tie of her robe puts up little argument against his assault, and the feel of silky material gliding across her skin as it drifts to the floor inflames her skin even further.

Her nipples jut proudly beneath the fine satin, a visible sign of the state of her arousal, through the thin material of her nightgown she blushes in response to his appreciative gaze. Noticing her embarrassment, Mon-El goes back to what works, capturing her lips with his for a moment before shifting his attention to the pulse point on the slender column of her neck.

And… _oh_ …she never knew her neck was so sensitive. She gasps for air, her hands seizing the powerful grouping of muscles at his shoulder blades as his hot breath bathes the delicate skin of her neck. He places gentle kisses down the long column of flesh, the tip of his tongue just grazing the skin. Her head drops back to allow easier access and she’s surprised to find his hand cupping the base of her skull to provide support.

Blood rushes ruthlessly to the organ between his legs, awakening a hungry beast that’s been delayed far too long already from seeking its fundamental objective. “Tell me what you want,” he says between kisses, his own breath shallow. “Tell me what your body wants, Kara. Don’t be afraid.” He is desperate to hear the words come from her mouth. Not because he needs such guidance, but because a woman willing to verbalize her desires is far easier to tease and to please.

“I don’t…ahhh…Mon-El,” she breathes, unable to articulate what she wants. Unsure about saying these things out loud. His lips and tongue ravishing her neck, and the tingling, unfurling warmth they cause make it nearly impossible to think in terms of words and speaking.

Mon-El cups her face in both hands and angles her dreamy gaze to meet his. Kara’s vision is blurred by arousal and it takes a moment for her vision to clear. “Kara,” he sighs her name like making a wish. “You mustn’t be afraid,” he instructs her. As though to demonstrate, his hands travel down her side to her hips before sliding around to her ass. Mon-El squeezes the ample cheeks and presses her into his noticeable arousal. She squeaks delightfully in response. “You must never be afraid to demand that your desires be met. Pleasure is your right.”

“Daxamite hedonist,” she teases softly, though her accusation bears no bite. Her words remind him of the first few weeks of their acquaintance, when their cultural prejudices built a wall between them. They’ve come so far since then, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Kryptonian prude,” he answers back with a slow, sweet smile that has her stomach flipping over. She licks her lips, completely unaware of the enticement that provides him.

His eyes are nearly black with arousal now, and when Kara shifts her hips, she can feel his erection surge back in response. Mon-El groans and tightens his grips on her backside until her heels lift off the floor and she’s standing on the balls of her feet, held up only by his hands. He dips his mouth to her collarbone, sucking lightly on a patch of skin there.

“I want…I want,” she licks her lips again, finding her mouth suddenly devoid of lubrication.

“You want…?” he urges.

“I want you to be wearing fewer clothes,” she admits.

“Good,” he nods. He smiles, a smug announcement of victory for getting her to vocalize what she wants. “Perhaps we should take this someplace more comfortable,” he suggests, releasing his hold on her and allowing her to drop down to floor.

Kara slips her hand into his and tugs him into the bedroom.

 

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People seemed upset about the cliffhanger in the last chapter. I can’t imagine why. Mwahahaaa!. Anyway the truth is the chapter was supposed to end earlier but I felt like the final chapter was too long and decided to crib a few pages and tack them on to the end of Chapter 3, which meant I had to find a good stopping point and that was it.
> 
> Chapter 4 is still too long. It’s almost as long as the rest of the combined chapters. But what are you gonna do? It’s not like I can split the smut right down the middle. 
> 
> That would be mean.
> 
> Word about the smut. This is what I call “romance novel smut”, meaning I use flowery words and the occasional metaphor/euphemism. I usually go a lot bolder and dirtier than this, and if this thing turns into a series of stories, they are likely to get progressively more so. Just sayin. Euphemisms aside, definitely Explicit. WARNING: Dom/sub undertones. Run for the hills if you’re not into it.
> 
> If you are into it...you can thank me later ;)
> 
> One last thing: I’m going off of memory in terms of when/how Kara came into her powers, and tooootally making up what I don’t remember, so don’t shoot me if I’m wrong. A gentle reminder is a-okay though. For future reference of course.
> 
> Constructive comments and pure love are always appreciated – flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.
> 
> My profuse thanks to those who left positive comments on previous chapter. You guys are awesome.
> 
> To all the rest: Thanks for reading and/or providing kudos. On with the show.

Taking a moment, she uses her heat vision to light the candles she had strategically placed around the room earlier in the evening. At the time she thought it was stupid and talked herself in and out of it numerous times, finally settling on the notion that if she didn’t feel comfortable lighting them, then she wouldn’t. But when Mon-El had chosen to be honest about the kiss in the infirmary and about his desire to win her heart, this had become something more than a favor among friends. This became an event for which one uses candles.

“That’s a neat trick,” he comments, though he’s fully aware of all the powers being a Kryptonian affords her.

“You know,” she says, lighting each candle in turn. “I didn’t fly for the first time until last year.”

“Really?”

“I mean…I could fly for short periods when I was kid, but then I decided to be normal and didn’t use my powers again – not until I had to. Alex was in a plane, and it was crashing. I had to save her.”

“I see,” he says, wondering where her story is leading.

“And I was fifteen when my heat vision first manifested. ‘Hormones,’ Eliza said. My powers came a little at a time, except for the strength and the speed and super hearing, those were there very early on. Freeze breath at fourteen, telescopic vision at…seventeen, and microscopic vison at twenty-one. But twelve years to fly – really fly. And I learned I was invulnerable when...” she thinks better of telling that story, or remembering it in Technicolor detail just now. “Let’s not talk about that. But let’s just day…it’s not like I ran around stepping in front of speeding bullets or throwing myself in front of out-of-control cars, let’s be honest You don’t know you’re impervious until…you just do.”

She watches him watching her out of the corner of her eye. Mon-El slowly peels off his shirt as he listens, in no real rush to disrobe. Tugging it from the waistband of his slacks, he tosses the shirt over the back of the reading chair situated in the corner of her room. His chest is pale, a little too pale from spending too much time indoors, but his body is well-formed and his workouts with her have left his arms and chest bulging just enough for her liking. His abdomen is tight, with a trail of rich brown hair that disappears into the waist of his pants. Increasingly nervous as new skin is revealed, Kara continues to babble on. “You’ve only been here a few months, Mon-El. There’s no reason to think you won’t get heat vision eventually, or even the ability to fly. And I know that Eliza is working on an antidote to your…lead problem.”

This is news to him, and it touches him deeply that Kara and her Earth mother care enough about him to keep him alive and healthy. But he sees her prattling for what it is, an avoidance tactic brought on by nervousness. Clearly, she handles their foreplay better when he is the one in control and providing her with leadership.

“Kara,” he directs, his voice laced with authority, “Come here and kneel on the edge of the bed, facing me.” Thankfully, he is well-trained in the care and handling of a skittish partner, particularly those that need a firmer hand.

There’s something about the way he speaks—the confidence—that makes her want to follow his every command. Perhaps it’s because she knows, if she were to make a demand of him, he would follow it without question, understanding it as her right to seek pleasure. As she climbs on the queen-sized bed and kneels at the very edge, he takes his shoes and socks off and places them next to the chair.

Kneeling before him in her barely-there negligee, she is a sight to behold—as always—but he considers himself blessed to be allowed to see her this state of vulnerability. Her hands twist anxiously in front of her and his heart twists a little at the sight. He knows just how to better occupy them though. Familiarizing her with his body, with nothing between her hands and his flesh is an important first step in the pursuit of intimacy, especially when one partner is untried. Mon-El returns to her, clasping her hands in his before raising them to chest level. Turning her hands upwards, he places a soft kiss on each palm before resting her palms against the bare flesh of his pectorals. “Now,” he says, “I want you to touch my body, Kara. Wherever you want, I’m at your disposal.”

Kara is stunned at the heat of him, his skin burning against the tips of her fingers. She thinks he must feel like he needs to crawl out of it. Caressing his chest, she feels his pectorals contract in reaction to her touch and she knows that his desire for her made that happen. His breath falters in his chest and her power over him made that happen. Lightly exploring with her fingertips, her feather light touch traces a candlelight shadow at his collarbone, following the hard ridge from the edge of his shoulder inward until it meets its mate at the base of his neck. She trails her fingers down and down, through the patch of hair in the center of his chest and lower to the dusting of fur on his belly, flirting with the belt at the waistband of his trousers.

As she investigates his chest and abdomen, his fingers toy with luxurious hair. As he’s fantasized more times than he can count, he plays with the golden ends, rubbing thick portions of it between his fingers. He returns to her scalp over and over, massaging her there before sliding back down the long strands until reaching the ends. He longs to see her hair spread out on the pillows like a golden halo, her warm thighs cradling him as he works her body to its fever pitch.

Throughout it all, Kara can feel him watching her face intently, so she knows she must have revealed something when he reminds her in a husky voice, “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to take your pants off,” she answers, after a moment of hesitation.

“Is that really what you want, Kara?” he inquires, notching a knuckle under her chin and tilting her head until their eyes meet. “Tell me what you want.”

She licks her lips. “I want…I want to take off your pants.”

“Then you must do so,” he nods. Mon-El’s chest fills with pride when she’s honest with him about her needs and desires. She is an apt pupil. He cups her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb and rewards her courage with a sweet, sultry kiss that has her leaning against his chest. When he releases her, he takes her hands and guides them to his belt buckle.

Her fingers trace the silver horseshoe shaped buckle before sliding the leather strap out of its enclosure and tugging the pin free from the hole. She likes the sound the metal parts of the belt buckle make when they jangle together, no longer separated by the leather. With a tug, the belt slides free of its loops, dropping his pants half an inch lower than they were before.

His erection tents the crotch of his trousers and he’s not the least bit embarrassed or self-conscious about revealing how attractive he finds her. She is a goddess he had given up finding long ago. Surrounded by beautiful women in the court of the Crown Prince, Mon-El wearied of their conceits and fashions and self-idolatry soon after commencing the search for an acceptable mate to whom he could latch himself. So instead, he contented himself with taking as many women as possible for his pleasure. Watching her now, witnessing her innocent curiosity combined with her unassuming bravery, Mon-El knows he will never find another like Kara Zor-El.

For Kara, it is a heady feeling to know that she can bring him to this state. Thankfully, the button of his pants falls apart in her hands, and for a moment she’s afraid that in her haste she tore the button off, but a check reveals everything to be in its place. She would be mortified to destroy his clothes in her eagerness.

“Gently,” he whispers as her fingers clasp the zipper tab. She particular likes the sound the zipper makes as it comes undone without sticking in the slightest. His slacks slide down his legs without protest and he steps out of them and kicks towards the chair in the corner of the room.

Now, Kara’s fingers toy with the elastic band of his boxer briefs, before she raises her eyes to meet his once more.

“Tell me what you want?” he asks.

“I want to take off your boxers,” she replies, this time without a sign of embarrassment.

“Good girl,” he praises her. Not for her admission, but for the fearlessness she displayed while confessing it. He rewards her with another kiss, this time his tongue slipping into her mouth to meet hers, before pulling back to catch her lower lip between his teeth, biting down ever so gently.

She smiles against his mouth, her tongue snaking out to soothe her lower lip when he retreats. Returning her attention to the task at hand, she works the elastic band over his erection, at the last second glancing up at his face as though afraid to fully look at the organ she exposes.

Sensing her reticence, Mon-El assists her by re-framing her anxiety as a desire she has the power to grant. “Kara, I want you to look at my cock.”

Biting her lip nervously, she shifts her gaze back down to his erection. His confidence is well-warranted, she realizes, if Daximites judge such worth by size as the men of Earth do. Thick and nearly made deep purple by the blood filling it, she doubts she can wrap her hand around it completely. His member is so big and so angry looking, she’s struck with a sudden horrifying thought, her entire body tensing.

“It will fit,” he promises, the fear so easy to read on her face. “It’s my job to make sure that your body is properly prepared to accept me. Do you trust me, Kara?”

Kara sees the earnest entreaty in his slate gray eyes and relaxes. “Yes, Mon-El,” she nods.

“Good,” he sighs, relieved. “Now, finish what you started first. Let’s complete one desire before moving onto the next. It’s so much better that way.” His precious Kara, he smiles. If there’s one thing he’s learned about her in the few months of their acquaintance, it’s that she’s often keen to run before she’s learned to walk.

Gathering the waistband of his boxer briefs, she eases them off his hips and down his tree-trunk thighs. Bending over to push them past his knees, puts her face right at the same level of his erection. She can feel her hair brushing against it. Mon-El hisses at the graze of her hair across his sensitive member, sounding for all the world as though he is in pain.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, snapping back up to her kneeling position. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he chuckles, the air skipping in his chest. He steps out of his underwear and, like his pants, kicks them away. “That wasn’t a sound of pain, Kara, it was a sound of pleasure.”

“Really?” she wonders. “Well, if pleasure sounds like pain, how am I supposed to know the difference?”

“You’ll learn,” he promises. Impatient to touch her all of the sudden, Mon-El decides to shift the direction of their foreplay. “It’s your turn now. Tell me what your body needs from me.”

“More kissing,” she answers with a smile, her teeth gleaming in the candlelight.

“Yes,” he nods, rewarding her with a brush of his lips, “but what else? Tell me…where do you ache to be touched?” His fingertips alight on her shoulders, gliding slowly down her arms, thumbs tracing circles with a touch as light as breath. Goosebumps rise on her skin, trailing in the wake of his caress.

A shiver races down her spine, and it occurs to her that Mon-El is completely naked and yet she still wears her nightgown. The slowly building ache in her core that began with the kissing, intensifies with his teasing touch, but she isn’t ready to ask for him there. “My breasts,” she breathes in a voice that would barely be audible to human ears.

Thankfully, Mon-El isn’t human. “Yes,” he agrees, his eyes raking over the obvious arousal of her satin-covered nipples. “They do seem insistent. Tell me how they feel.”

“Heavy,” she replies. “Like they want to be held…squeezed.” The last word is a croak, her cheeks blushing at the request.

“Hey,” he says, lifting her chin with a crooked finger. “No embarrassment.”

She meet his eyes with hers and nods.

“Now…your nipples?” His knuckles stroke the nipple of one breast, the touch so light a feather would have been heavy by comparison. Yet her body reacts with a violent electrical shock that heads straight for her core, and leaves her fighting for breath.

“They sting” she answers, gasping for air. “Like I’m naked in a blizzard. My whole body is on fire, but my nipples feel like they’re frozen.”

Mon-El grins and then tries to suppress it by biting down his lower lip. He’s smug again because she admitted more than he expected. “Well, let’s see what I can do to make you feel better. I want to remove your garment now.”

Instead of nodding her assent, she lifts her arms over her head while he draws the fabric up and over her body before dropping the nightgown on the floor. “Good girl,” he praises.

Before she has a chance to feel shy about kneeling before him completely naked but for a pair of panties made of the tiniest scrap of blue lace known to man, his hand is cupping her breast, and she has forgotten how breathing is done. He pulls in closer to her, until her other breast is tucked against the heat of his chest, and his stiff cock brushes against her hip.

She drops her head onto his shoulder, her breath coming in tiny gasps. It is the first time she has been skin to skin against a man, and the feeling of it, the heat of it – like a conflagration – takes her breath away. He leans into her, his slightly-stubbled cheek against hers and she can feel his breath against her ear before he speaks.

“You are absolutely beautiful, Kara Zor-el,” he whispers. “Perfect in every way.” One hand gently cups her breast, the thumb languorously tormenting her tender nipple, while the other glides down to the dip of her lower back to rest there. Her hands stroke the muscles of his shoulders and upper back, filling his veins with swiftly moving molten lava that heads directly for his cock. He squeezes her breast then, flicking the nipple with more purpose, eliciting a squeak of surprise from Kara, followed by a, “Mmmmm”. As he expects, she instinctively arches her back, pressing her breast more firmly into his palm. He finds that it fits perfectly there, as though made exclusively for his hand.

Picking up on the sudden rush of her blood, he whispers, “I can hear your heart racing. And the way you struggle to breathe. Are you ready for more Kara? Be honest.”

More? The sensations he draws from her body are so overwhelming she isn’t certain she can handle more, but she’s too curious about what he’ll do next to deny him. “Yes,” she exhales, nodding insistently. “I’m ready.”

“Lay back on the bed for me.”

“Okay,” she agrees, biting on her lower lip. She’s nervous about what is certain to come, but she feels incredibly sexy, as if for the first time in her life she’s at home in her own skin, and truly aware of the power that’s hers to wield. She’s no lamb to the slaughter, which is somehow what she expected this to be like when she was sucking down wine just twenty minutes ago. Not unless lambs are typically convinced of how delicious they’ll be as a medium rare centerpiece at a four-star restaurant. Kara slides down on to her back onto the middle of the bed, spreading her long golden hair across the pillows as she raises her arms above her head.

“You’re almost enough to make me believe in goddesses,” he tells her, his voice thick with awe. She positions herself in the center of the bed as though she plucked the fantasy from his mind. He stands at the end of the bed gazing down at her like she’s a work of art, long lost to the perils of war and only just unearthed once more.

The expression of reverence on his face makes her feel like a goddess in a way no newspaper headline ever has. His cock is rigid and ready, pressing up so close to his stomach, and she didn’t know it could do that. She knows a fair deal about sex, has read enough to make her want to stop reading, but seeing it and feeling it – it’s so different than she imagined. So much…more. She arches her back in invitation, loosely gripping the rails of her headboard as he just watches her. She never knew how much she’d like being watched.

“Mon-El,” she beseeches, a rush of wet heat dampening her panties as her core clenches with ever growing ferocious need. She wants to feel his skin against hers again, to feel his weight pressing her into the mattress beneath her. She’s almost ready to feel him inside of her.

Finally, realizing he can never look his fill and instead he must act, Mon-El crawls onto the bed, stalking her like a jungle cat. Grasping one of her knees, he moves it aside to open her legs, creating a cradle for his hips. He doesn’t use it though, choosing instead to hover over her compliant form, very little of his body touching her at all. Kara huffs a whine in disappointment and he can’t help but smile.

“Patience,” he instructs with an indulgent smirk, as though reading her desires. “You’ll get everything you want, I swear it. But I’m going to start with this.”

Swooping down, he takes her burning, frozen nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue and then blowing gently upon it, the nerve-enriched areole tightens further at the sensory stimulation. She had thought it had reached the peak of its sensitivity, but she had clearly been mistaken. Her breast must contain a direct line to her center, because searing sparks streak through her, making a bee-line straight to the increasingly impatient throb between her legs. It’s like a yawning, gaping emptiness now begging to be filled, even as it burns her from the inside out. She squeezes her legs together in an attempt to ease the ache within, but his thighs are in the way, blocking whatever satisfaction she had hoped to find. A rich chuckles escapes from his mouth, vibrating across her already sensitive flesh; he knows exactly what she was trying to do.

One of his hands works the other breast, kneading it to a hard pebble of sensitivity as though preparing it for his mouth. His warm tongue pulls at her, finding each pleasure point to soothe the frozen fire that earlier tormented her. Releasing her grip on the headboard before she breaks it, her hands find their way to his head, holding him in place as her fingers fist in his thick hair. Her grip doesn’t seem to deter him one bit however, because despite her strength he switches to the other breast without missing a beat. Together it seems, as though their bodies find synchronicity in unison, their actions become suddenly needy and urgent. His mouth suckles and soothes with measured skill, while one of her hands grapples with his back, her manicured nails scratching as much of his unbreakable skin as she can reach.

Swept up in deepening, expanding arousal, the room spins around her, her lungs barely taking in the necessary oxygen. She’s on fire, burning to cinder from the inside out, but she wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything – knowing that should tomorrow come she would give anything to feel it again. Before she can process that his mouth has abandoned her breast, he’s kissing down her stomach, and his tongue dips into her navel as one hand continues to toy with her breast. Kara doesn’t recognize the carnal sounds coming from deep within her, a begging whine she can’t seem to control.

He slips his fingers beneath straps of her panties and tugs them down her hips. Kara has not the strength or the desire to protest. She needs to feel him there, to feel something there, she’s just not sure what. “I want to taste you,” he rasps, his voice thick with desire.

Oral sex wasn’t something she had prepared for mentally. She imagined this as an awkward coupling in the dark, a necessary concession in exchange for a desired result; not this unpredictably enthralling, passionate reach for fulfillment. The thought of being that intimate, of having his face down there, is something for which she isn’t sure she is ready. Curious, to be sure, she imagined reserving that sort of intimacy for after she had more experience.

“You’re thinking too much. I must not be doing my job right.” Mon-El works her panties down her legs and off, tossing them over his shoulder and refocusing his attention on her throbbing core.

“I wasn’t,” she denies, breathlessly.

“You’re crinkling,” he points out.

“Am not,” she pouts, hating that he can read her so well.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” he chuckles, before returning to task. First, placing light, non-threatening kisses on her inner thighs, he graduates to sucking the soft skin there into his mouth. Though unlikely to remains, he imagines her finding the love bite in the morning during her shower and thinking of the feel of him between her legs.

“Mon-El,” she gulps, shaking her head, “I’m not sure if I can—“

“You can,” he insists. “You should.” He closes his eyes and draws a deep breath and she watches as he reigns in his passion. A moment ago, he was overtaken by his hunger, but now he has regained a part of himself. “There are ways I can make you more prepared, and this is one of them. Trust me?” he pleads, stroking her inner thigh with the backs of his fingers.

She can feel the heat of his breath against her folds. Kara’s face blushes a deep red at the intense intimacy in his tone and the open affection on his face.

A moment hangs in the air between them before she nods, shyly. Kara expects him to dive face first into her mound, but instead he reaches between her legs and dips a single finger between her folds. Mon-El unerringly finds her clit and the resulting shot of white fire sensation has her hips bucking against his hand.

“Rao!” she cries out breathlessly. “Oh God!” Her lungs work overtime to gain back what his action has stolen from her.

“You’re so wet, Kara. Have you ever been this wet before?” Her petals are slick and glistening for him, waiting his tongue and his cock. He can feel the heat rolling out of her in waves, and he’s determined to make her even wetter. He salivates, wanting nothing more to plant his face in her yearning core and lap up the evidence of her desire.

But he knows from the earlier look on her face that she’s just not ready for that yet, and so he elects to redraw his efforts for the time being. Like many young women during in the early days of their sexual awakening, she’s likely overly concerned with the way she smells, or how her natural lubrication might taste to him. He wishes he could explain to her how alluring the sight and smell of it is. He will have his first taste, he knows; but as with the wine, it won’t be directly from this source. Not until she’s ready, at least.

Unable to resist, Mon-El slides his middle finger into her entrance, first one knuckle and then sucking the second in the rest of the way. Her hips buck against him and her inner muscles clamped down on his finger, shocking the breath out of him with their strength. She’s going to be so tight, he’ll have to match her with every ounce of his strength to survive their encounter intact.

Suddenly mortified by the eagerness he’s seduced out of her, she pivots her face away from what’s happening between her legs, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her breasts with her arms,. Yet, despite her shame, her hips continue to move against his hand, driven by ancient instinct, as a single finger dips into her hot, greedy passage. Her mind, humiliated by the lack of control she has over her own urges, demands that she close her legs, to fight the invasion, but they refuse to follow suit, choosing instead to chase the digit that’s giving her such unexpected pleasure. It hurts a little bit though, in the way that unfamiliar things do, as his middle finger reaches further into her soaking depths.

“No embarrassment,” he reminds her, his heart aching at the sight of the blushing, cringing vulnerable goddess before him. Someday, if the Universe can find it within itself to side with him for once, she’ll beg him for this, unabashed and unashamed. “It’s a good thing,” he encourages her. “It means our bodies were made for this. Kara? Open your eyes.” His voice demands her attention and Kara finds herself following his instructions once again. “Look at me.” He slides his free arm alongside her and lowers himself onto his side next to her. “Stop hiding your perfect breasts and put your arms around me.”

Slowly he begins pumping his finger in and out of her wet heat, the drag of it converting the air in her lungs to fire and she gasps for air to fill her lungs with air but never quite finding satisfaction. Her hands reach for him, not just because he demanded it, but because they must. She needs an anchor to hold her down, because she’s realized that her back is no longer touching the bed, or at least it feels that way.

Mon-El’s lips capture hers in a searing kiss, his tongue perfectly matching the movements of his pumping finger, and she loses herself in the unbearable heat racing through her body. Tension deep in her belly cranks tighter and tighter; she’s felt this before at her own behest, but it’s never been this…promising. Her abdomen constricts and her fingers grip more tightly at his muscled form, reaching for her climax and finding it still out of range. Of their own volition, her legs drop open further now welcoming and encouraging his invasion. “Faster,” she begs, lifting her head to watch as his finger moves in and out of her.

Mon-El’s finger stops moving and Kara groans in disappointment. “Show me,” he purrs.

“I don’t—“

“Show me.”

Reaching down she grips his wrist, holding it in place as she begins undulating her hips, riding his finger toward her elusive eruption. But it’s not enough. The climax once building within her slips further out of her grasp, and she groans in frustration, her head dropping back against the pillow. “Please,” she sobs.

“Here,” he whispers. Pulling out, he adds a second finger and slides back into her. It’s a snugger fit and she lifts her knee to her chest to make more room to ease his entry. Again he pumps his fingers in and out, watching her face as he holds her spellbound with his attentions. “Is that better?”

 _“Yes!”_ she cries, and then bites down on her lower lip. His fingers thrusting in and out of her produce an obscenely wet noise that somehow ratchets her arousal to a whole new level, and Kara’s long past the ability to suppress the kittenish mewling sounds issuing from her throat. A fine sheen of perspiration springs from the pores of her neck and chest as the promise coils within her, preparing to spring itself upon her like snake lying in wait. “Don’t stop. I’m…something’s happening,” she gasps for air. Her neck arches on the pillow, her breasts jutting upwards, as she gives herself over the coming storm.

Mon-El withdraws, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Though he wants to see her fall apart, there’s still so many ways to pleasure her. Building tension seeping rapidly away from her, Kara scrambles for his wrist, attempting to grab it to reverse his retreat. But he holds it aloft, just out of her reach.

“I said I wanted to taste you,” he explains. “And so I will.” To her shock, he slides his fingers into his mouth, sucking her juices from them, his eyes close in ecstasy as he tastes the richest dessert in all the universe. “So delicious…like sweet and spice,” he informs her, his grin spreading further across his face. “I think I’ll have some more.”

Before she can protest, as if she has the wherewithal to do so after that, Mon-El slides his head between her thighs and positions her legs over his shoulders. His fingers widen her soaking wet folds as his lips and tongue fasten themselves around her clit to draw a violent kind of delight from her. While pleasuring her with his fingers, he had studiously avoided the bundle of nerves that promised her an explosive completion, constantly keeping her on the edge and never sending her over. But now he delves in unapologetically and with single-minded purpose: to send her flying apart at the seams.

His fingers join the work of his mouth and tongue, pumping in and out as he draws on her clit at erratic intervals. The pleasure is excruciating and so white-hot her body now wants to shy away from the explosive outcome it wanted to reach only a moment ago. Mon-El places a hand on her belly to hold her down, forcing her hips to remain still as his mouth and fingers work her mercilessly.

How do people survive this?

The tension, which disappears earlier like a fair-weather friend, now rushes upon her, almost without warning. Her thighs clench around his head, her toes curling into his lower back as her upper body arches off the bed. When she comes, her orgasm slams into her like a lightning bolt, a shock striking at her core and then rippling outwards until her entire body hums and buzzes with the power of it. Her abdomen crunches inward as her fingers fist tightly into the pillows at either side of her head. Her back arches so deeply that her head rolls back, corded neck bowing as her throat announces the arrival of ecstasy. She can feel the heat rising as though her blood has flash-boiled beneath her skin, and her cries become a primal sound without words – a savage prayer of thanksgiving. Her hips bucking mindlessly as Mon-El continues to work his fingers in and out through the now-drenched convulsing muscles.

He eases her down gently from her high, and when higher thought returns, Kara realizes she’s just experienced her first orgasm with a partner, and it was everything she never thought she could have. Like any other teenager growing up, Kara had experimented with masturbation, and as an adult it had been a necessity, lacking any other choice. She had culled orgasms from her own hands, and from battery operated tools, but nothing like that – nothing with the power to turn her into a mindless bundle of nerves exploding like fireworks. She bursts into tears, her lungs dragging for air that seems just out of reach. It is joyful. It is cathartic, her double release.

As the last of her muscles cease their violent quivering, her body sinks into the mattress a sweaty, boneless puddle of beautiful female flesh. Unsurprised by her tears, Mon-El abandons his place between her thighs and takes her into his arms. Tuning her into his body, his hand runs up and down her body, calming her with long caresses down her back.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she blubbers uncontrollably.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he assures her, his hand skims up her spine to rest at the back of her neck.

When the tears begin to slow and her breath comes more evenly, she sniffles, “I never thought I’d be able to. Not like this.” She tucks her head into the safety of his neck, running a finger down his chest.

“I know,” he says. “No one should ever believe that it isn’t their right to feel these things.” Satisfied that her tears have run their course, he releases her from the warmth of his embrace. “Lay back,” he prods her, smiling when she follows his instructions without complaint or uncertainty.

Mon-El kneels over her, taking in her flushed and damp skin, the rise and fall of her chest and the unmistakable appearance of boneless repletion. “You are stunning when you take your pleasure, Kara,” he says, his own breath catching in his chest.

She smiles behind heavy-lidded watery eyes, as he now looms over her. He catches her lower jaw and works her mouth open with his thumb, before slipping his tongue inside and tangling with hers in a kiss that’s both filthy and intimate. “Now…can you taste yourself?” he asks when he breaks away her.

“Yes,” she nods, drowsily. She expects to be disgusted by the musky flavor of her own juices on her tongue, but finds herself craving more. “Kiss me again,” she demands.

Mon-El smiles at the languid command in her voice and gladly complies, plundering her mouth to draw her tongue against his. One hand strokes her cheek and jaw as their tongues tangle, finding every flavor and texture left to discover. The fingers of his other hand gently stroke the daintily manicured thatch of fine hair above her wet folds, keeping her primed for what comes next.

With a shift of his hips, he’s between her legs, the tip of his cock replacing his stroking fingers, sliding along the wet seam of her core, but avoiding her ready entrance. His full length strokes the seam up and down, using her juices to lubricate the shaft in preparation for the next step. Her legs spread wider of their own accord, her hips canting upwards, that hypersensitive hub of nerves beneath his length sending out sparks of sensation so bright it borders on painful. Yet still she can’t resist the lure of it.

“Wait!” she exclaims, her mind recalling a promise she made to herself long before this night began.

“What is it?” He is concerned by the tone of alarm in her voice, and the fact that she is scrambling away from him. Kara turns halfway on her stomach, providing him with a nice view of her backside as she reaches for the foil packet sitting on the bedside table.

“Condom,” she announces, holding up the silver square, the candlelight bouncing off the shiny packaging.

“What’s a…condom?” he asks. Mon-El sits up on his knees and scratches his head, tilting it in confusion.

“Didn’t anyone explain about..?” she begins, nonplussed. “None of the guys mentioned a…?”

Mon-El shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, one hand lazily stroking his erection, as though it’s just another part of his body. “Is it some sort of pleasure-giving device?” he smiles hopefully.

“No,” she shakes her head. “It’s…birth control.” She thinks it best at the moment to avoid mentioning that it could also prevent the spread of disease, since she knows from her mother that he is free from both Daxam and Earth diseases. “You wear it on your....,” She struggles with choosing the best moniker.

“My cock,” he answers for her when her mouth grimaces adorably in defeat. “That seems to be the most widely used and acceptable term on this planet. Although I hear ‘dick’ a lot, mostly in the locker room. People tend to avoid the more clinical ‘penis’…unless they’re a doctor. There’s also ‘prick’, ‘schlong’, ‘one-eyed snake’ to name but a few—there are a lot of slang terms for the male genitalia on this planet. It’s ridiculous, really. Which do you prefer?”

She thinks for a moment, her eyes drifting to the ceiling as though actually rolling the words around each other in her head. “Cock,” she finally says, with a nod. “It sounds…complimentary,” she decides. “Unlike ‘dick’, which can also be an insult.”

“Of course, you can call it whatever you want,” he suggests. “Name it, if you like.”

“Your mighty weapon?” she snorts.

He laughs along. “Mmmm. That’s a lot of pressure, considering I haven’t even shown you its true power yet.” He leans down and captures her smile with his lips, dipping his tongue in for a taste. He had worked to prepare her for what comes next, and if he doesn’t press forward soon all his painstaking efforts will have been for naught. He’ll have to start all over again – not that he’d complain. But his own needs would like to be answered at some point, as his cock is constantly reminding him. Mon-El reaches for the foil package in her hand, but she pulls back, placing her empty hand on his chest and pushing him away.

Kara shakes her head. “I want to put it on you. I’ve been practicing,” she explains.

This information brings Mon-El up short. “Practicing?” he demands, the unobscured bite of jealousy in his tone.

“On a banana,” she quickly qualifies, a coquettish smile forming on her lips. “I’ve been watching videos on Youtube and practicing on a banana. Not on an actual…person. We did it once in Health class when I was in high school, but that was a long time ago. I needed to brush up.” She’s tensing with anxiety again, her words building a head of steam until Mon-El places his hands on her shoulders and lets them drifting slowly down her arms.

“Go on then,” he urges. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Nervously, she reaches for him, her fingers shaking almost imperceptibly as they wrap around his girth, already semi-lubricated from her own juices. Beads of milky fluid slip from the head as she lightly strokes him up and then down, her fingertips lightly caressing the sensitive underside.

“You, Kara Zor-El, are a Vartine,” he pants breathlessly, his eyes slamming shut with immeasurable hunger. She will be the end of him, he has no doubt, as her warm hand strokes his steel. Though she could use a bit more pressure for his preference, he’s confident that in time she will learn what pleases him best.

She has heard of the Vartine, in the archival data on Daxam available to her. It speaks of the planet’s history and some of its myths. The most prevalent myth was of an angelic creature with the ability to seduce any man and leave him drained of all but the desire for more of her. Similar to the Earth myth of the Sirens. It is a legend central to the evolution of Daxam’s hedonistic culture.

Mon-El grabs her wrist, ceasing its tantalizing movements. “You mustn’t,” he growls, his teeth grinding together.

Kara smiles – finding she likes this side of him, clinging frantically to control but so close to letting it slip away. The part of him so effected by her touch his eyes flash with ferocity, his muscles tensing and rolling beneath his skin, like a wild animal ready to lunge. The part of her that revels in her femininity hungers for him to throw her on the bed and take her without a thought for tenderness. To reveal to her the beast he keeps so carefully leashed.

Sensing that his control is a hairsbreadth from snapping, she terminates her teasing and sets about completing her task. Pinching the tip of the condom and placing it over the head, she rolls the latex down his shaft with a deftness that surprises even herself, all while explaining to him the proper disposal technique.

“All done,” she declares, her eyes shining with the pride of a task properly accomplished. She stops short of clapping for herself.

Mon-El wastes no time pressing her onto the mattress and attaching his mouth to her breast once more, sucking and nipping at her breast until her body writhes beneath him and she’s breathless again. Her taste for fulfillment now kindled, he uses his hand and mouth to stoke the flame of her desire again, until it burns bright and threatens to devour them both.

“Mon-El,” she pleads, his lips now pressed to her pulse point. She spreads her legs for him, seeking a remedy to soothe the throbbing hunger there. It consumes her; a need unlike any other, but she knows she must answer its call lest it incinerate her from within. The ache of emptiness is engulfing, swallowing her whole and stealing her breath. She must assuage it no matter the cost. “Please.”

He doesn’t ask her if she’s ready, or tell her what would bring him pleasure. Mon-El reaches between their bodies and aligns himself with her waiting, wanting entrance. The moment of truth has arrived and Kara sends a quick prayer to Rao that this will work, and that Mon-El won’t be damaged by the effort.

Sliding forward, he presses just the tip of his cock into her, rocking his hips gently as he attempts to ease his way in. So tight, her heat swallows him, ensnares him, and threatens to steal the balance of his hard-earned discipline. He releases a shaky breath before pushing forward another inch, feeling her muscles clamping down on his unlike with all their considerable power. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before, or likely to feel again with anyone but her.

Kara tenses beneath him, his girth of his cock stretching her to capacity before he’s even fully seated. She hisses with pain, tears pricking behind her shut eyelids. She spares a thought of concern for Mon-El, that he will find the resistance just as impenetrable as any human male might. Her own pain she can handle; it’s no more than she’s experienced in battle. “Mon-El,” she whimpers, afraid not for herself, but for him.

“You need to relax,” he chokes out. “Your body is resisting me. Breathe, Kara. Close your eyes and let your body go limp. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Leaning down he flicks his tongue against her nipple, earning him a gasp. “I only want your pleasure.”

Kara would give anything to see his smile again, but as always, his commands become her compass, leading her through this strange new wilderness. She inhales as deeply as her lungs will allow and released the breath; repeating this procedure until at last her body begins to relax, her muscles loosening around the tip of his cock.

I’m sorry,” he grinds out, his teeth clenched, the muscles of his jaw ticking. Taking a breath as deep as his lungs will allow, he plunges ruthlessly into her tight warmth, until he’s buried to the hilt inside of her. Everything in her body ceases to function with the exception of her pain receptors. It’s not a feeling she’s accustomed to experiencing, certainly not with the frequency that accompanies human frailty, and certainly not in the places she’s experiencing it at this moment.

With a groan, Mon-El lowers himself into the cradle of her hips, covering her upper body with his. He clasps one of her hands, intertwining his fingers with hers while his mouth cascades up and down her neck, attempting to redirect her pain back into pleasure.

“It’s okay,” he croons, soothingly, as though speaking to a skittish puppy. “You’re okay.”

And when the pain subsides, the sharp, piercing sting ebbing into a dull ache, she realizes he is right. The worst is over and she can almost sigh with relief. Her theory about Mon-El’s capabilities in this arena had, until this moment, been just that – a theory. There had always been a chance that she was wrong and this moment could have gone horribly awry. Kara wants to laugh, but can only manage a wan smile.

“You’re okay?” Her voice is shaky and thick with emotion, her tight throat holding back tears.

“Never been better,” he announces while sucking at her collarbone. He’s redirecting his own instincts as he kisses whatever flesh is available to him. It’s no easy task to forget for a moment that he’s buried to hilt inside of the hottest, tightest pleasure haven he’s ever experienced, or that it threatens to choke the life out of him while he begs it for more, and she hasn’t even come around him yet. And that he must allow her the time to adjust to his not inconsiderable size before he can continue.

His invasion stretches her untried passage to its limits, filling her in ways she hadn’t known she was empty. And where there was once two people, now there is one creature, gasping in unison, breathing each other’s air, their skin melding together until there is no beginning or end to separate them.

After another moment, she tentatively reaches around to clutch at his back. His body weight isn’t heavy in the slightest – not for her – but she finds she needs to adjust to this unprecedented incursion into her personal space. Kara rolls her hips, seeking something…she isn’t quite sure, but testing the last dregs of pain within her to see if more will follow. She breathes a sigh of relief when none is forthcoming. Mon-El moans in response to her undulating movements, his lips pressing so tightly together that a white line forms around outer edges as he drops his head into the crook of her neck.

“Just...be…still,” he grounds out, his voice tortured beyond anything she’s heard before. Even when Jeremiah was digging a bullet out of his leg.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispers, stroking her hands down his back to soothe his pain. “Am I hurting you?”

“Gods, no!” His head, tucked in her neck, shakes vehemently. “But you’re so tight and I’m trying not to hurt you. And you moving isn’t helping the situation. I swear to all the gods of Val-Or, Kara, it’s taking everything I have to not fuck you into oblivion right now.”

“Oh,” she replies, biting her lower lip. His declaration sparks a new and naughty flame inside of her, the dull ache of his penetration shifting to a wilding and suddenly ravenous pool of desire in her belly. Of their own accord, instinct trumping higher thought, her muscles clench around his cock and his entire body turns to stone.

“Gods!” he shouts, a grimace of pain (pleasure?) overtaking his face. She thought him rigid before, but the muscles beneath her fingers, quivering with the effort of remaining still just a moment before, now have all the malleability of granite.

Whether attempting to pull away from her or simply heeding his body’s unrelenting demand, Mon-El withdraws from her clenching depths, but then slides back in as though instantly regretting it. The drag and pull of it, her core clasping and clamoring to bring him back to her, his pubic bone pressing against hers as they reunite, is nothing as she imagined.

 _“Oh!”_ she exclaims, her hands gripping at his back. Her voice light and breathy, as though rediscovering something long since thought lost in the last place she expected to find it. She wants more of that – the feeling of emptiness followed immediately by the fullness – the sensation that his body is staking claim to her emptiness, making it his. More of the nerves in her core spark like a flint strike, wanting only kindling to light a fire. The pain is still there, just a hint of it, but it’s the good kind. The kind that reminds her she’s alive, that she’s still a person, no matter what some people may think of her.

Sliding his forearms under her upper back he wraps his fingers around her shoulders, seeking leverage as his hips shift once more. He begins a gentle rocking motion, his cock retreating only a fraction before sinking back in, familiarizing her with the feel of him, his width and length. It isn’t long before the hunger in the pit of her grows restless and greedy; her hips answer by tilting up to meet his in hopes of finding more friction.

“All right?” he manages, barely.

“Yes,” she replies, nodding her head, trying not to lose herself to the feeling of him buried so deep. “More.”

He shifts up and away from her body, leaving her breasts cold for want of his heat. Balancing on his hands, so that he can better judge her experience from the shifting expressions on her face, he alters his rhythm by withdrawing completely and driving fully back into her with a snap of his hips.

She moans in response, a primal sound that starts low in her chest, but speaks only to unexpected and unquantified pleasure. Mon-El repeats the action, feeling as she grows wetter and more pliable around him, hearing the sound of his sweat slicked skin as it slaps against hers with a satisfying sting. As a youth, he had been trained in the various arts of bringing pleasure to a woman (or a man), a necessity in the Daxam court that could make or break political relations. Using that training now, he quickly finds a tempo he can maintain to push her towards her waiting ecstasy. As his hips piston against hers, his cock pumping in and out of her soaking heat, her moans ratchet up in pitch and transform to whines of need. The faster he moves, the higher her pitch.

“Mon-El,” she cries in euphoric anguish. Her delicate but nonetheless powerful hands grip at the toiling, driving muscles of his back, as she stares up at him, pupils blown wide, an expression of wonder written across her face. With each passing moment, each delectable grind of his pelvis against hers, the boiling tension building at the place where their bodies connect rises to a new level. Like a bow-string pulled taut, waiting for permission to fly, every muscle in her body contracts inward as though preparing to release long stored shares of energy. “Please,” she begs, the word stuttering on the way out. She’s unsure what she’s asking but the word spills forth anyway. “Don’t stop. I can feel it.”

Reaching down he grabs her prone knee and hikes it up on his hip. Her eyes squeeze shut at the change in angle and the subsequent sensations that blaze through her. Following his lead, she raises her other leg and begins experimenting with their position to find which feels best. She finds that sliding her legs alongside his flanks until her knees are tucked just under his armpits has his thrusts hitting a spot that send fireworks exploding in her core. But still she needs more.

“Harder…?” she asks. Is it harder she wants, or faster? She isn’t sure.

“What?” His breathless voice demands, but his body leans down to steal a heated kiss before she can answer. “Tell me what you want.”

“Harder,” she commands. Her hands slide down his back and grab hold of his rear-end, squeezing the rock hard cheeks to guide his movement. He complies with fervor, grunting agreeably with the effort of pleasuring her, a delicious smirk on his face as he looks down upon her. He has her trapped in a web of carnal worship and Kara finds she can’t tear her eyes from his steely gaze, no matter how hard he pistons in and out of her.

She’s so close – so close, but just before she reaches the waiting pinnacle her whole world shifts around her. Kara finds herself face down on the mattress, her fingers gripping at the bedspread, and the feeling of fullness stolen from her by her capricious tutor. Putty in his hands, Mon-El manhandles Kara until she kneels before him, her back to his front, and uses his knees to spread he legs wider apart. His strong arm clamps around her waist, holding her flush against his chest. His other hand holds her hip steady as he eases again into her waiting heat, his chest rumbling with satisfaction.

“Ah!” she groans, her head falling back against his shoulder. Her long neck exposed, Mon-El wraps a hand around it, squeezing the graceful column gently as his fingers detect the racing pulse at her artery. He holds still for a moment before beginning a new pattern of slow withdrawals followed by vigorous thrusts.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he insists, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. Teeth grinding together, he ignores the gathering, churning storm between his legs, threatening to swamp him far too soon for his liking. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she groans. “So good! Feels so good.” Her response is followed by a series of short panting cries timed to each one of his fierce thrusts. Searching for some purchase to anchor her, she reaches her hands behind her to grasp at his moving hips, bowing her back and thrusting her chest forward. “Don’t stop,” she begs. “Don’t stop.”

“As if I could,” he grunts into her ear. “You’re so tight, Kara. So hot and tight. You don’t know what it does to me…knowing I’m the first one inside you.” One of his hands slides from her neck to her perfect, bouncing breast, cupping and squeezing it before pinching the engorged nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand fists in the lushness of her hair and turns her face towards his. Mon-El tweaks her nipple, twisting it between unrelenting fingers until Kara’s mouth opens in a gasp of surprise. He seizes her mouth then, tongue tangling passionately with hers as his pelvis hammers her buttocks.

She hovers in a state of nearly insensate bliss. Her climax swims so close to fruition part of her wants to push it away so that the intoxicating pleasure of him moving inside of her will never stop. In this position, he’s not as deep as he was before and she thinks it’s because he doesn’t want it to end either. Mon-El twists her nipple again, and though it hurts she finds the novelty of the pain to be strangely arousing – it’s an experience no human man could provide for her.

Switching to her other breast to pay it equal attention, Mon-El releases her hair and glides his hand down her body until he finds the wet nest of pleasure-providing nerves and dips his middle finger inside. “I want you to come for me, Kara. Can you do that?”

“Yes, please,” she moans. “Please make me come.” She shrieks when he pinches her clit, biting her lower lip until the wild sounds coming from her mouth turn to suppressed groans.

“Don’t bite your lip, Kara,” he coaches. His finger circles the swollen bundles of nerves and then presses against it, before repeating this pattern. He adds a second finger and increases the speed with which he torments her. “I want to hear you scream. Let yourself scream.”

When his fingers move at near-vibration speeds, her climax devours her as if catching her unawares. Kara’s body stiffens painfully, her toes curling, her fingers clenching as her scorching sheath convulses and flutters around him. Hoarsely, she screams his name over and over, her passage viciously clamping down on his cock, determined to hold him hostage even as he continues to pump in and out of her core. Mon-El groans in response, sensuality radiating from the sound of it as her body rewards him for his enthusiastic efforts. His bliss does nothing to deter the thrusting of his hips, his fingers and his cock working together to draw out her orgasm, extending the excruciating ecstasy until another wave hits her, drowning her in rapturous agony.

He slows his thrusts then and withdraws his fingers from their task, allowing her to descend from the heights of her euphoric frenzy. Boneless and replete, she mewls with exhaustion as he releases her to fall forward onto the mattress. Kara whines—a sad, discontented tantrum—when his cock slips out of her. She lands face down, her legs spread invitingly before him, her thighs slick with the evidence of her desire. Her hips roll, frustrated, against the mattress, seeking what has been lost.

His shaft is steel between his legs, his balls ripe for release but denied the privilege. He might struggle more against the sudden shift from Kara’s heavenly heat to the coolness of the room, were it not for the birth control device she asked him to don. Drawing his fingers along the slick surface of the condom as he gazes as Kara’s naked and deliciously prone body before him, he finds that the casing only slightly dulls his own sensation, a fact that makes it easier for his long-untested discipline to remain intact.

Mon-El’s court-training had stressed mastery of technique and the importance of longevity and endurance when pleasuring a partner, and he finds that his training stands in good measure still – if only barely. If required, he could remain at the ready all night, as was often a necessity when servicing more than one partner at a time during his days in the palace.

But Kara is tapped out, he fears, her mind as overwhelmed by his attentions as her body. By his judgement, he could coax four, perhaps five, more orgasms from her and if his own selfish desires were all to consider this night, he would. But her lack of experience with such licentious activities could leave her unable to function for a while, and National City needed its heroine on-call at any given moment. It’s best to take things slow, until they see how quickly she recovers. He fears that surrendering to his own venal inclinations would only backfire, angering her should she be unable to answer her city’s call in its time of need. The trust of the breathtaking woman on her stomach in front of him is a commodity he has no desire to lose.

Firm hands on her hips have her rolling onto her back and spreading her legs once more. Aligning his cock, he slides balls deep into her heat as they moan their satisfaction in unison. He needs to finish, and he wants to do it inside of her.

“Hold on to me.”

She complies without question, or the slightest desire to resist, slipping her arms beneath his and splaying her hands in the dip of his lower back. Balanced on his forearms, Mon-El tucks his face into her neck and sets his pelvis moving to a rhythm that is both punishing and rewarding, he will not last long – he is not meant to. After a moment, he moves to her lips, prying them open to take her moans into his mouth while giving her his own. Their sweat-slicked bodies touch at every possible point; her breasts crushed against his chest while his belly skates slickly atop hers. His powerfully laboring legs brush alongside the limp, boneless-ness of her limbs as their pelvises thrash against one another. Mon-El’s hands cup the back of her head, fingers clenching and unclenching in her golden tresses, timed to the plunging of his cock.

A mewling cry, the beautiful sound of her surrender, punctuates his every thrust, but she has little strength left to do anything but lay there and clutch helplessly at the bunching musculature of his back. His rhythm falters upon his will, speeding at first and then thrusting erratically and fully; once, twice, and then a third final time. His entire form seizes in her arms and his guttural groans become feral growls that sends a flurry of shivers down her spine. Muscles gradually releasing, he breathes hot air into her open mouth as his hips spasm a few more times, her hands clutching at his lower back as his body expels the last of his release.

He collapses into her arms and wants nothing more than to stay there, to stay buried within her, but her instructions earlier were clear. He must be rid of the condom before the steel of his cock softens completely, lest the casing’s entire purpose be defeated…a moment he fears is rushing upon him. With a sigh of disappointment, he reaches between their bodies and takes hold of the condom before slipping from her precious heat.

“No,” she begs, grabbing for his retreating form. His cruel abandonment in her moment of utter repletion borders on painful, and her throat constricts with the sudden and unexpected need to sob again. Her arm drops over her eyes to hide the rush of emotion.

“I have to,” he reminds her. He slips off the condom, but is gratified nonetheless by her vocal unwillingness to be parted from him. “I’ll be back.”

He disappears into her bathroom, the light flicking on. She hears the sound of the toilet flushing, followed by the tap turning on. He rummages around in there for a few minutes, long enough for her to struggle to her elbows and wonder if she should go in there. He finally emerges, turning off the light as he leaves. In one hand he carries and glass of water and in the other, a wet washcloth.

“Drink,” he says, offering her the glass. She takes the glass from him and drains the glass in the three swallows.

“Thank you.” She hands him back the glass, which he sets on the bedside table.

Climbing back on the bed he uses to warm cloth to wipe down her thighs before pressing it against her center. “You should take a warm bath,” he advises. “To help with the soreness. I could run one for you…if you like.”

Embarrassed by the intimacy of his attentions, she blushes, heat rising to her cheeks. But she doesn’t allow her awkwardness to put an end to it, instead choosing to lay back and let him finish cleaning her. “I’ll be fine,” she replies with a gentle shake of her head. “Probably sooner than you think. Benefits of a yellow sun.”

Mon-El nods and chuckles, before retreating back into the bathroom to dispose of the used the washcloth and replace the water glass by the sink. He saunters back to the bed and sits on the edge, but comes no closer. He’s so at home in his skin, she thinks, as though he wears clothes only for the sake of others, but personally feels no need for them. While a big part of her wants to cover her nakedness (the part of her that wants to be brave won’t allow it), Mon-El seems to be unaware of his, as though it is a most natural state. The steel gray of his eyes rakes slowly over her contentedly used body, flushed and glistening with quickly drying perspiration, and she shivers at his blatant admiration.

Taking her shiver as a chill, he pulls back the comforter of her bed and bids her climb inside. She does, finding the sheets delightfully cool against her heated skin.

“Would you like for me to go, Kara?” he inquires, sitting now just out of her easy reach.

“What? Why?” Her eyebrows crease together in confusion. Didn’t he want to stay with her?

“In the beginning…it’s what you wanted,” he reminds her. “A favor among friends. If that’s still how you feel, then I will dress and see myself out. I’m told that when a ‘one-night-stand’ is complete, the visiting party dresses and departs with minimal fuss. I’m afraid I may already have overstayed my welcome.”

“Mon-El, no,” she shakes her head. Sitting up in defiance of his inference, the bedsheets fall to her waist. He turns his face away from her, his jaw visibly clenching, fighting his desire to touch her. Kara slides across the mattress and reaches for his cheek, turning his face towards hers. This time her lips are the ones descending upon his and he is bewitched by the supple invitation she offers. Blindly, his hand finds her shoulder and follows the trail of curving skin up her neck until he cups her cheek.

Now, after having felt his heated skin moving against hers, she wants to curl into him like a contented kitten and sleep in his arms. It is a feeling she didn’t expect to feel when this night had begun. He took such care with her and drew out of her emotions she didn’t know she could experience. She knows now she doesn’t want that to end with just one night.

Pulling away from him, she slides back to her side of the bed and drags back the comforter for him. “I want…for you to stay,” she whispers, her sky-blue eyes coquettishly hidden behind half-closed lids. _“That_ would bring me pleasure.”

His gray eyes darken upon seeing her bring his lessons of boldness to fruition. He climbs under the covers with her, wrapping one arm around her as she curls into his side with a contented sigh. It won’t be long before he wants to take her again, and when that time comes he hopes that she will be willing.

Kara tilts her head up and finds his mouth ripe for the taking. She presses her lips against his, tracing the seam with her tongue until he opens for her. The tips of their tongues, dancing indolently but make no demands for more. Her fingers pluck at the thatch of coarse dark hair in the center of his chest as she throws one leg over his, brushing her thigh against his flaccid manhood.

“Kara,” he warns, his voice deepening with empty threat.

“Sorry,” she grimaces, tucking her head to his chest.

“You should sleep,” he advises, closing his eyes and tightening his arms around her. Mon-El attempts to ignore the proximity of her thigh to his now re-awakening cock, or the fact that he can feel the heat of her core scorching his hip.

She closes her eyes and sighs deeply. Her body tired but thrumming with an energy she doesn’t yet understand, as though she’s been plugged into a new, more efficient power source for the first time. Kara, behind closed eyelids, searches for that place in the darkness that will lead her a long night of dreams, but find that it eludes her. Instead all she can see are mental recordings of their lovemaking and over and over she recalls the growl he made when he took his pleasure inside of her. Her hip writhes mindlessly against his, searching for the pressure to ease the slowly building ache within her.

“Kara,” Mon-El hisses, his teeth gritting together. He wants to be stern with her, to teach her about respecting a partner’s limits, but truthfully all he wants is to do is laugh.

“Sorry,” she squeaks again. Her body curls tighter into him, embarrassed by her action. “It’s just that….”

“It’s just that…what?” he sighs, regretting his seriousness a moment earlier. He knows he has to be patient with her. Up and down, he strokes her back in a comforting, coaxing manner, hoping to make her feel safe.

“I want you again,” she confesses, so open and honest, his heart falters in his chest. “Is that wrong?”

“No,” he chuckles, hardly believing the apprehension in her voice. “There’s nothing more right, Kara.”

“Then why won’t you?” she asks, insecurity leaking into her tone. “Don’t you…want me too?”

“Kara!” Mon-El lifts his head and looks into her nervous eyes, all pretense of trying to sleep now gone. “What a thing to ask! Did I not make you feel wanted? Did I not bring you pleasure?”

“Yes, Mon-El, but—“

“I could be inside you for days without ceasing,” he tells her bluntly, tightly gripping her thigh in place so that she can’t move. “I could take you to the precipice over and over but never let you fall, or I could have you constantly coming apart at the seams with a few well-placed touches until you are a mindless jumble of impulses. I could have you in hundreds of positions, rutting into you like a beast over and over until you begged me to stop. Then I could teach you the line where pleasure becomes pain and where pain becomes pleasure.” The heat against his hip—her heat—becomes hotter and slicker on his skin. “But this night was your first...you must be sore. I won’t overtax you…no matter how much I desire you.”

“But I’m not,” she insists.

“Not what?”

“I’m not sore.” Her fingers draw invisible designs on his chest, drifting over one of his nipples and causing the muscle to contract in response to her touch. “I mean…I was…at first. But now I’m not.” She leans down and flicks her tongue over his other nipple just to see how he will respond. Like her own, the dark pink skin around his nipple tightens in arousal. Mon-El sucks in a breath and his hips jerk beneath her thigh, but a smile spreads across his face.

“What am I going to do with you?” he wonders aloud, on the precipice of giving in to her. She is irresistible with her lush tresses, her perfect body and pert breasts, as well as her willing and eager sheath for his hardening steel. But it is the openness of her spirit and brightness of her soul that makes her truly impossible to resist, and he wouldn’t risk any action that might close off her spirit or tarnish her soul – not for the entire world. Making up his mind, he places his hand over the smaller one on his chest before it can wander further and dangerously afield of its own accord.

Kara sighs, disappointed at his cessation of her attempted seduction. Until his hand takes hers and guides it down his chest and past his stomach, right to his hardening cock. Kara smiles victoriously.

“Take me in your hand, Kara,” he instructs his darling apt pupil, her eyes wide with eagerness.

She wraps her small hand around his substantial member, following the motions of his gently guiding grip. Kara likes the way his eyes close and he bites on his lower lip as she brings him pleasure. She’s enthralled by how silky and hard his shaft can be at the same time. She’s curious about the drop of milky fluid that appears at the tip of the head.

“Can I taste you?” she asks, hopefully.

Mon-El’s heart races in his chest at her artless request. There are many things yet he could teach her about the arts of pleasure and if she allows he will teach her every last one of them, he vows to himself. And perhaps there are many things she can teach him about the giving of oneself so freely.

“Oh, Kara,” he sighs happily. “I just may make a Daxamite of you yet.”

She giggles at the notion as her open mouth descends upon him.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve reached the end of the story. I’m thinking there will be another, if not more -- because there’s damn plot to resolve. Also, I don’t think Morgon-Ral is done with Mon-El yet. And neither is Kara! ;) ;);P.
> 
> Sadly, I’m not one of those fast writers who whips things out in a day. This one took a month to write. Granted...I couldn’t work on it every day, but still.


End file.
